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STEALTHY  EXAMINATION  OF 
PONS'S   TREASURES 


These  three  thieves  were  still  looking  at  each  other, 
each  a  prey  to  his  voluptuous  enjoyment, — the  great- 
est of  all, — the  satisfaction  of  success  in  the  pursuit 
of  fortune,  when  the  voice  of  the  sick  man  rang  out 
vibrating  like  the  sound  of  a  bell. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  cried  Pons. 

"Monsieur,  lie  down  again  !  "  exclaimed  the  Cibot, 
springing  towards  Pons. 


THE    NOVELS 


OF 


HONORS  DE  BALZAC 


NOW    FOR   THE   FIRST   TIME 
COMPLETELY    TRANSLATED     INTO     ENGLISH 


THE    POOR    RELATIONS 
COUSIN  PONS 


SECOND   EPISODE 


BY  WILLIAM  WALTON 


WITH    FIVE     ETCHINGS    BY    CHARLES-BERNARD    DE    BILLY 

AND  XAVIER-FRANCOIS  LE  SUEUR,  AFTER  PAINTINGS 

BY   ALCIDE-THEOPHILE   ROBAUDI 


IN  ONE  VOLUME 


PRINTED  ONLY  FOR  SUBSCRIBERS  BY 

GEORGE   BARR1E   &  SON,  PHILADELPHIA 


COPYRIGHTED,   1896,   BY  G.   B.   *  SON 


t. 


O 

K 

»-« 
t/3 


THE  POOR  RELATIONS 


SECOND  EPISODE 
COUSIN  PONS 


189960 


COUSIN  PONS 


Toward  three  o'clock  of  an  afternoon  in  the 
month  of  October,  in  the  year  1844,  a  man  about 
sixty  years  of  age,  though  most  persons  would  have 
thought  him  older,  was  passing  along  the  Boulevard 
des  Italiens,  his  nose  to  the  scent,  his  lips  hypo- 
critical, like  a  merchant  who  has  just  concluded  a 
sharp  bargain,  or  like  a  young  man  who  comes  out 
of  a  boudoir  very  well  satisfied  with  himself.  This 
is,  in  Paris,  the  highest  possible  expression  of  per- 
sonal satisfaction  in  man.  When  this  old  gentle- 
man appeared  in  the  distance,  those  persons  who 
pass  their  days  seated  on  the  chairs  along  the  boule- 
vard, given  up  to  the  pleasure  of  analyzing  the 
passers-by,  allowed  to  appear  on  all  their  faces  that 
smile,  peculiar  to  the  Parisian,  which  says  so  many 
things,  ironical,  mocking,  compassionate,  but  which, 
to  animate  the  countenance  of  the  Parisian,  blase 
as  he  is  with  sights  of  every  kind,  requires  the 
highest  living  curiosities.  One  word  may  explain 
the  archaeological  value  of  this  worthy  man,  and  the 
cause  of  the  smile  which  repeated  itself,  like  an 
echo,  from  eye  to  eye.  A  certain  actor,  named 

(3) 


4  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Hyacinthe,  celebrated  for  his  witticisms,  being  asked 
one  day  where  he  procured  those  extraordinary 
hats,  at  the  mere  sight  of  which  the  audience 
laughed,  replied  :  "  I  do  not  have  them  made,  I  keep 
them!  " 

And  in  like  manner,  among  the  million  actors 
who  compose  the  great  company  of  Paris  there 
are  unconscious  Hyacinthes,  who  carry  on  their 
persons  all  the  absurdities  of  their  period  and  seem 
to  you  so  completely  the  personification  of  a  whole 
epoch,  that  you  burst  into  laughter,  even  though 
you  may  be  at  that  moment  devoured  by  the 
bitter  chagrin  caused  by  the  treachery  of  some 
former  friend. 

Preserving,  as  he  did,  in  certain  details  of  his 
costume,  an  uncompromising  fidelity  to  the  fashions 
of  the  year  1806,  this  passer-by  recalled  the  Empire, 
without  being  too  much  a  caricature  of  it.  For  the 
close  observer,  this  fineness  of  discrimination  ren- 
ders such  evocations  of  the  past  extremely  valu- 
able. But  this  conjunction  of  trifling  things  is  worthy 
the  analytical  attention  with  which  are  endowed  all 
these  connoisseurs  in  the  art  of  lounging ;  and  to 
excite  the  general  laughter,  the  passer-by  should  offer 
some  such  absurdities  as  those  the  sight  of  which 
would  "stop a  clock,"  to  use  a  common  saying,  and 
such  as  the  actors  seek  to  insure  the  success  of 
their  entrance  upon  the  stage.  This  old  man,  thin 
and  dry,  wore  a  spencer,  of  the  nut  colored,  over 
a  greenish  coat  with  white  metal  buttons  ! — A  man 
in  a  spencer  in  1844 — that  is,  you  see,  as  if 


COUSIN  PONS  5 

Napoleon  himself  had  deigned  to  be  resuscitated  for 
a  couple  of  hours. 

The  spencer  was  invented,  as  its  name  indicates, 
by  an  English  lord,  vain  no  doubt  of  his  handsome 
person.  Before  the  peace  of  Amiens  this  English- 
man had  thus  solved  the  problem  of  covering  the 
shoulders  without  crushing  the  whole  body  under 
the  weight  of  that  frightful  box-coat,  which  in  our 
day  has  finally  fallen  upon  the  backs  of  the  old 
hackney  coachmen  ;  but,  as  the  fine  figures  are  in 
the  minority,  the  fashion  of  the  spencer  for  men 
had  in  France  only  a  passing  success,  notwithstand- 
ing the  fact  that  it  was  an  English  invention.  At  the 
sight  of  the  spencer,  the  men  from  forty  to  fifty 
years  of  age  clothed  this  gentleman  in  imagination 
with  top-boots,  kerseymere  small-clothes  of  pistachio- 
green  with  knots  of  ribbon,  and  saw  themselves 
once  more  in  the  costume  of  their  youth  !  The  old 
ladies  recalled  their  early  conquests !  As  to  the 
young  people,  they  wanted  to  know  why  this  elderly 
Alcibiades  had  cut  off  the  tails  of  his  coat.  Every- 
thing was  so  much  in  accord  with  this  spencer  that 
you  would  not  have  hesitated  to  name  this  passer-by 
an  homme-Empire,  just  as  we  say  a  meuble- Empire; 
though  he  symbolized  the  Empire  only  for  those  to 
whom  that  magnificent  and  grandiose  epoch  was 
known,  at  least  de  visit;  for  a  certain  fidelity  of 
memory  as  to  past  fashions  was  needful  for  its  per- 
ception. The  Empire  is  already  so  far  away  from 
us  that  it  is  not  every  one  who  can  picture  to  him- 
self its  Gallo-Grecian  reality. 


6  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

The  hat  worn  on  the  back  of  the  head  exposed 
almost  the  whole  of  the  forehead  with  that  species 
of  bravado  by  which  the  public  officials  and  the 
citizens  were  just  then  endeavoring  to  make  head 
against  that  of  the  military.  It  was,  moreover,  a 
horrible  fourteen-franc  silk  hat,  under  whose  brim  a 
pair  of  high  and  large  ears  had  left  whitish  traces, 
vainly  combated  by  the  brush,  the  silk  tissue  badly 
stretched  as  usual  over  the  stiff  brim,  was  crumpled 
in  several  places,  and  seemed  to  have  been  attacked 
by  leprosy,  notwithstanding  the  careful  hand  which 
smoothed  it  every  morning. 

Under  this  hat,  which  seemed  to  be  in  danger  of 
falling  off,  expanded  one  of  those  grotesque  and 
droll  faces  such  as  the  Chinese  alone  have  been  able 
to  invent  for  their  porcelain  figures.  This  huge 
visage,  perforated,  like  a  cook's  skimmer,  until  the 
holes  actually  produced  shadows,  and  worked  over 
like  a  Roman  mask,  defied  all  the  laws  of  anatomy. 
The  eye  found  in  it  no  indications  of  interior  struc- 
ture. Where  there  should  have  been  bones  the 
flesh  showed  only  gelatinous  levels,  and  where  faces 
ordinarily  present  hollows,  this  one  exhibited  only 
flabby  protuberances.  This  grotesque  face,  crushed 
together  in  the  shape  of  a  pumpkin,  made  sorrowful 
by  gray  eyes  surmounted  by  two  red  lines  in  place 
of  eyebrows,  was  dominated  by  a  nose  a  la  Don 
Quixote,  as  a  plain  is  dominated  by  a  solitary 
boulder.  This  nose  expressed,  as  Cervantes  may 
well  have  observed,  an  innate  tendency  for  that 
devotion  to  great  things  which  degenerates  into 


COUSIN  PONS  7 

credulity.  This  ugliness,  comical  as  it  was,  how- 
ever, did  not  excite  laughter.  The  extreme  melan- 
choly, which  revealed  itself  in  the  pale  eyes  of  this 
poor  man,  affected  the  scoffer  and  silenced  the  jest 
upon  his  lips.  You  could  not  but  think  immediately 
that  Nature  had  denied  to  this  worthy  man  any 
expression  of  tenderness,  under  penalty  of  making 
a  woman  laugh,  or  of  displeasing  her.  The  French 
are  silent  before  this  misfortune,  which  to  them 
appears  the  crudest  of  all,  the  inability  to  please  ! 

This  man,  so  disfigured  by  Nature,  was  dressed 
like  the  poor  hangers-on  of  good  society,  whom  the 
rich  themselves  often  enough  endeavor  to  resemble. 
He  wore  shoes  hidden  by  gaiters,  made  after  the 
fashion  of  the  Imperial  Guard,  and  which  permitted 
him,  no  doubt,  to  wear  the  same  stockings  a  certain 
length  of  time.  His  pantaloons  in  black  cloth,  pre- 
sented rusty  reflections  and  on  the  folds  white  shin- 
ing lines  which,  not  less  than  the  fashion  of  their 
cut,  betrayed  them  to  be  not  less  than  three  years 
old.  The  amplitude  of  these  nether  garments  dis- 
guised illy  enough  a  leanness  rather  constitutional 
than  derived  from  any  Pythagorean  regime;  for  the 
worthy  man,  endowed  with  a  sensual  mouth  with 
thick  lips  showed,  when  he  smiled,  white  teeth 
worthy  of  a  shark.  The  double-breasted  waistcoat, 
crossed  like  a  shawl,  also  in  black  cloth  but  doubled 
by  a  white  vest,  under  which  appeared  in  the  third 
layer  the  edge  of  a  red  knitted  doublet,  reminded 
you  of  the  five  waistcoats  of  Garat.  The  enormous 
cravat  in  white  muslin  of  which  the  portentous  tie 


8  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

had  been  invented  by  a  certain  beau,  to  charm 
the  charming  women  of  1809,  extended  so  far 
behind  the  chin  that  the  face  seemed  to  plunge  into 
it  as  into  an  abyss.  A  silken  cord,  braided  to 
resemble  hair,  crossed  the  shirt  and  protected  the 
watch  against  an  improbable  theft.  The  greenish 
coat,  of  a  remarkable  cleanliness,  was  of  the  fashion 
of  at  least  three  years  before  that  of  the  pan- 
taloons; but  the  collar  in  black  velvet  and  the 
buttons  in  white  metal,  recently  renewed,  betrayed 
domestic  care  brought  down  to  minute  particulars. 

This  fashion  of  wearing  the  hat  on  the  back  of 
the  head,  the  triple  waistcoat,  the  immense  cravat 
into  which  the  chin  plunged,  the  gaiters,  the  metal 
buttons  on  the  greenish  coat — all  these  signs  of  the 
Imperial  fashions  harmonized  well  with  the  belated 
perfume  of  the  affectation  of  the  Incroyables,  with 
something  indescribably  skimped  in  the  folds,  meagre 
and  precise  in  the  general  effect,  which  smelt  of  the 
school  of  David  and  recalled  the  spindle  furniture  of 
Jacob.  You  recognized  readily  at  first  glance  a  man 
of  good  breeding  now  the  prey  of  some  secret  vice, 
or  one  of  those  holders  of  small  incomes  whose 
total  expenses  are  so  sharply  determined  by  the 
mediocrity  of  their  revenue  that  a  window  broken, 
a  coat  torn,  or  the  philanthropic  nuisance  of  a 
charity  suffices  to  destroy  their  personal  pleasures 
for  a  month.  Had  you  been  there,  you  would  have 
asked  yourself  why  a  smile  animated  this  grotesque 
countenance,  the  habitual  expression  of  which  must 
have  been  cold  and  sad,  like  that  of  one  struggling 


COUSIN  PONS  9 

obscurely  for  the  trivial  necessities  of  life.  But  if 
you  had  remarked  the  maternal  precaution  with 
which  this  singular  old  man  carried  an  object 
evidently  precious,  in  his  right  hand,  under  the  two 
left  flaps  of  his  double  coat,  as  if  to  protect  it  from 
accidental  shocks;  if  you  had,  above  all,  noticed  the 
business  air  which  the  idle  assume  when  they  are 
charged  with  a  commission,  you  would  have  sus- 
pected him  of  having  found  something  equivalent, 
at  least,  to  the  lap-dog  of  a  marquise,  and  of  carry- 
ing it  triumphantly,  with  the  emphasized  gallantry  of 
an  homme-Empire  to  some  charming  woman  of  sixty, 
who  had  not  yet  been  able  to  deny  herself  the  daily 
visit  of  her  attentive  cavalier.  Paris  is  the  only 
city  in  the  world  in  which  you  encounter  similar 
spectacles,  which  make  of  its  boulevards  a  per- 
petual drama,  played  gratuitously  by  Frenchmen 
for  the  benefit  of  art. 

Judging  by  the  general  structure  of  this  bony 
man,  and  in  spite  of  his  audacious  spencer,  you  would 
scarcely  have  classed  him  among  the  Parisian  artists 
whose  privilege,  similar  enough  to  that  of  the  gamin 
of  Paris,  is  to  re-awaken  in  the  bourgeois  imaginations 
the  joys  mirobolantes — scrumptious — since  this  droll 
and  antique  word  has  been  restored  to  honor.  This 
passer-by  was,  however,  a  Grand  Prix  de  Rome, 
the  composer  of  the  prize  cantata  crowned  by  the 
Institute  about  the  time  of  the  re-establishment  of 
the  Academy  at  Rome,  in  fact,  he  was  M.  Sylvain 
Pons! — the  author  of  many  celebrated  romances 
warbled  by  our  mothers,  of  two  or  three  operas 


10  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

performed  in  1815  and  1816,  and  of  several  unpub- 
lished scores.  This  worthy  man  was  now  finishing 
his  day  as  leader  of  an  orchestra  in  a  theatre  of  the 
boulevards.  He  was,  thanks  to  his  figure,  professor 
of  music  in  several  boarding-schools  for  young 
ladies,  and  had  no  other  income  than  his  salary,  and 
his  pay  for  his  private  lessons.  To  be  giving 
private  lessons  at  his  time  of  life! — How  many 
mysteries  behind  this  poor  and  unromantic  situation! 
This  last  of  the  spencer-wearers  carried  then  upon 
his  person  something  more  than  the  symbols  of  the 
Empire,  he  bore  a  great  lesson  written  upon  his 
three  waistcoats.  He  exhibited  gratuitously  one  of 
those  innumerable  victims  of  that  fatal  and  disas- 
trous system  called  concours,  which  rules  still  in 
France  after  one  hundred  years  of  existence  with- 
out results.  This  hotbed  for  intellect  was  invented 
by  Poisson  de  Marigny,  the  brother  to  Madame  de 
Pompadour,  appointed,  about  1746,  director  of  the 
Beaux-Arts.  Endeavor  to  count  on  your  fingers  the 
men  of  genius  furnished  in  a  century  by  these 
laureates!  In  the  first  place,  never  will  any  effort, 
administrative  or  scholastic,  replace  the  miracles  of 
chance  or  of  opportunity  to  which  the  world  owes 
its  great  men.  Among  all  the  mysteries  of  genera- 
tion, this  one  is  the  most  inaccessible  to  our  ambitious 
modern  analysis.  What  should  we  think  of  the 
Egyptians  who,  as  it  is  said,  invented  ovens  to  hatch 
chickens  if  they  had  not  immediately  given  food  to 
these  same  chickens?  And  yet  this  is  what  is  done 
in  France,  where  they  endeavor  to  produce  artists 


COUSIN  PONS  II 

by  the  hothouse  of  the  concours;  for  them  the 
sculptor,  the  painter,  the  engraver,  the  musician, 
obtained  by  this  mechanical  process,  there  is  no 
longer  any  more  concern  for  them  than  that  which 
the  dandy  has  for  the  flowers  in  his  buttonhole  last 
evening.  It  happens  that  the  man  of  real  talent 
is  Greuze  or  Watteau,  Felicien  David  or  Pagnesi, 
Gericault  or  Decamps,  Auber  or  David  (d'Angers,) 
Eugene  Delacroix  or  Meissonier,  men  caring  little 
for  the  Grand  Prix  and  who  come  up  in  the  open 
ground  under  the  rays  of  that  invisible  sun  that  is 
called  Vocation. 


Sent  by  the  State  to  Rome  to  become  a  great 
musician,  Sylvain  Pons  had  brought  back  from  there 
the  taste  for  antiquities  and  for  the  beautiful  things 
of  art.  He  was  an  admirable  connoisseur  in  all  of 
these  works,  masterpieces  of  the  hand  and  of  the 
brain,  which  have  been  comprehended  lately  under 
that  popular  word  bric-^-brac.  This  son  of  Euterpe 
returned  then  to  Paris  in  1810,  a  ferocious  collector, 
possessed  of  pictures,  statuettes,  frames  of  all  kinds, 
sculptures  in  ivory,  in  wood,  enamels,  porcelains, 
etc.,  which  during  his  academical  sojourn  in  Rome 
had  absorbed  the  greater  part  of  his  paternal  inher- 
itance as  much  for  the  cost  of  transportation  as 
from  the  price  of  their  acquisition.  He  had  expended 
in  the  same  fashion  the  inheritance  derived  from  his 
mother  during  the  journey  which  he  made  in  Italy, 
after  these  three  official  years  passed  in  Rome.  He 
wished  to  visit  at  his  leisure  Venice,  Milan,  Florence, 
Bologna,  Naples,  sojourning  for  a  time  in  each  city, 
as  a  dreamer,  as  a  philosopher,  with  the  careless 
ease  of  an  artist  who  trusts  to  his  talent  for  his 
livelihood,  as  courtesans  trust  to  their  beauty. 
Pons  was  happy  during  this  splendid  journey,  as 
much  so  as  could  be  a  man  full  of  soul  and  of 
delicacy,  to  whom  his  ugliness  forbids  all  success 
with  women,  according  to  the  hallowed  phrase  of 
1809,  and  who  found  the  things  of  life  always  below 
(13) 


14  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  level  of  the  ideal  type  which  he  had  created  for 
himself;  but  he  had  accepted  this  discord  between 
his  soul  and  the  realities  of  life.  This  sentiment  of 
the  beautiful,  preserved  pure  and  vivid  in  his  heart, 
was  no  doubt  the  source  of  those  ingenious  melo- 
dies, delicate,  full  of  grace,  which  made  his  musical 
reputation  from  1810  to  1814.  Every  reputation 
which  is  founded  in  France  on  the  vogue,  on  the 
fashion,  according  to  the  ephemeral  follies  of  Paris, 
produces  men  like  Rons.  There  is  no  other  country 
so  exacting  in  the  matter  of  great  things  and  so  dis- 
dainfully indulgent  for  the  little  ones.  If  Rons — 
soon  to  be  drowned  in  floods  of  German  harmony 
and  in  the  productions  of  Rossini — was  still  in  1824 
an  agreeable  musician,  known  by  a  few  late 
romantic  songs,  we  may  imagine  what  he  had 
become  in  1831  !  Thus  in  1844,  the  year  in  which 
commences  the  only  drama  of  this  obscure  life, 
Sylvain  Rons  had  attained  to  the  value  of  an 
antediluvian  quaver;  the  music  dealers  were  com- 
pletely ignorant  of  his  existence,  although  he  com- 
posed, for  very  moderate  remuneration,  the  scores 
for  certain  pieces  at  his  own  and  at  neighboring 
theatres. 

This  worthy  man,  moreover,  was  justly  appreci- 
ative of  the  famous  composers  of  our  epoch;  a  fine 
performance  of  a  beautiful  passage  made  him  weep; 
but  his  religion  never  arrived  at  that  point  where  it 
bordered  upon  mania,  as  it  did  with  the  Krieslers  of 
Hoffmann;  he  allowed  none  of  it  to  appear  on  the 
surface.  He  enjoyed  it  within  himself,  after  the 


COUSIN  PONS  15 

manner  of  the  hashish-eaters,  or  of  the  Theriakis. 
The  gift  of  admiration,  of  comprehension,  the  one 
faculty  by  means  of  which  an  ordinary  man  becomes 
the  brother  of  a  great  poet,  is  so  rare  in  Paris,  where 
all  ideas  are  like  the  transient  travelers  in  an  inn, 
that  for  this  alone  we  should  give  to  Pons  our  re- 
spectful esteem.  The  fact  of  his  own  lack  of  suc- 
cess may  seem  exaggerated,  but  he  candidly  admitted 
his  weakness  on  the  score  of  harmony;  he  had  ne- 
glected the  study  of  counterpoint;  and  the  modern 
orchestration,  so  immeasurably  developed,  appeared 
to  him  impossible  at  the  very  moment  when  by  fresh 
study  he  might  have  been  able  to  have  maintained 
himself  among  the  modern  composers,  to  have  be- 
come not  a  Rossini,  but  an  Herold.  However,  he 
found  in  the  pleasures  of  the  collector  such  lively 
compensation  for  his  failure  to  acquire  glory  that  if 
he  had  been  compelled  to  choose  between  the  pos- 
session of  his  curiosities  and  the  name  of  Rossini — 
would  it  be  believed? — Pons  would  have  decided  for 
his  dear  cabinet.  The  old  musician  practised  the 
maxim  of  Chenavard,  that  learned  collector  of  price- 
less engravings,  who  pretended  that  no  one  could 
have  any  pleasure  in  contemplating  a  Ruysdael,  a 
Hobbema,  a  Holbein,  a  Raphael,  a  Murillo,  a  Greuze, 
a  Sebastian  del  Piombo,  a  Giorgione,  an  Albert 
Durer,  unless  the  picture  had  cost  him  no  more  than 
fifty  francs.  Pons  never  allowed  himself  a  purchase 
over  the  cost  of  one  hundred  francs;  and  if  he  paid 
for  an  object  fifty  francs,  that  object  must  be  worth 
at  least  three  thousand.  The  finest  thing  in  the  world, 


16  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

if  it  cost  three  hundred  francs,  did  not  exist  for  him. 
Rare  indeed  had  been  his  bargains,  but  he  possessed 
the  three  elements  of  the  collector's  success:  the 
legs  of  the  deer,  the  leisure  of  an  idler,  and  the 
patience  of  a  Jew. 

This  system,  practised  during  forty  years,  at  Rome 
as  at  Paris,  had  borne  fruit.  After  having  expended, 
since  his  return  from  Rome,  about  two  thousand 
francs  a  year,  Rons  now  concealed  from  every  eye 
a  collection  of  masterpieces  of  every  species,  which 
amounted  in  his  catalogue  to  the  fabulous  number 
of  1907. 

From  1811  to  1 8 16,  during  his  wanderings  about 
Paris,  he  had  found  for  ten  francs  things  that  would 
sell  in  the  present  day  for  one  thousand  or  twelve 
hundred.  There  were  pictures  selected  among  the 
forty-five  thousand  paintings  which  are  annually  of- 
fered for  sale  in  the  auction  rooms  at  Paris,  porcelains 
of  Sevres,  pate  iendre,  brought  from  the  Auvergnats, 
those  satellites  of  the  Black  Band  who  brought  back 
in  their  hand-carts  the  marvels  of  France-Pompa- 
dour. In  fact,  he  had  scraped  together  relics  of  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  doing  justice 
to  the  men  of  wit  and  of  genius  of  the  French  school, 
the  great  unknown,  the  Lepautres,  Lavallee-Pous- 
sins,  etc.,  who  had  created  the  style  of  Louis  XV., 
the  style  of  Louis  XVI.,  and  whose  works  supply 
to-day  the  pretended  originality  of  our  modern  artist, 
who  may  be  seen  forever  bending  over  the  treasures 
in  the  Cabinet  des  Estampes,  in  order  to  produce 
new  designs  by  making  clever  copies.  Rons  owed 


COUSIN  PONS  17 

many  of  his  specimens  to  exchanges,  that  source  of 
ineffable  happiness  to  collectors!  The  pleasure  of 
buying  curiosities  is  only  the  second;  the  first,  is  to 
barter  for  them.  Pons  had  been  the  first  to  collect 
snuff-boxes  and  miniatures.  Without  fame  in  the 
bric-a" -brac-ology,  for  he  never  haunted  auction  rooms 
and  he  never  showed  himself  in  the  shops  of  the 
great  merchants,  Pons  was  ignorant  of  the  venal 
value  of  his  treasures. 

The  late  Dusommerard  had,  indeed,  endeavored 
to  establish  relations  with  the  musician;  but  that 
prince  of  bric-a'-brac  died  without  ever  having  been 
able  to  penetrate  into  the  Pons  museum,  the  only 
one  which  could  have  compared  with  the  celebrated 
collection  of  Sauvageot.  Between  Pons  and  M. 
Sauvageot  there  were  certain  similarities.  M.  Sau- 
vageot, musician  like  Pons,  like  him  without  much 
fortune,  had  followed  the  same  methods,  by  the 
same  means,  from  the  same  love  of  art,  with  the 
same  hatred  for  those  illustrious  rich  who  collect 
treasures  for  the  purpose  of  competing  skilfully  in 
the  markets  with  the  dealers.  Like  his  rival,  his 
competitor,  his  antagonist  in  the  quest  for  all  these 
marvels  of  handicraft,  for  the  prodigies  of  workman- 
ship, Pons  felt  in  his  heart  an  insatiable  avarice,  the 
love  of  a  lover  for  a  beautiful  mistress,  and  a  resale 
in  the  halls  of  the  rue  des  Jeuneurs  under  the  ham- 
mer of  an  auctioneer  seemed  to  him  a  crime  of  lese- 
bric-a-brac.  He  kept  his  collection  to  enjoy  it  at  all 
hours,  for  the  souls  created  to  admire  great  works 
have  the  sublime  faculty  of  the  true  lover;  they 


1 8  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

experience  as  much  enjoyment  to-day  as  yesterday, 
for  them  there  is  no  satiety  and  masterpieces  are 
happily  ever  young.  Thus,  the  object  held  so  pa- 
ternally under  the  tails  of  his  coat  was  undoubtedly 
one  of  those  treasure-troves  which  one  carries  away 
with  what  ardor,  O  amateursl  you  alone  can  truly 
know! 

At  the  first  outline  of  this  biographical  sketch, 
every  one  will  cry  out :  "  Why,  in  spite  of  his  ugli- 
ness, this  is  the  happiest  man  on  earth  !"  In  fact, 
no  ennui,  no  spleen,  can  resist  the  soothing  moxa 
which  is  brought  to  the  soul  in  giving  it  a  hobby. 
All  you  who  can  no  longer  drink  of  that  which  in 
all  time  has  been  called  the  cup  of  pleasure,  take  up 
the  task  of  collecting  something  or  other,  no  matter 
what — there  are  even  collectors  of  posters  ! — and 
you  will  find  you  will  get  back  all  your  ingots  of  joy 
in  small  change.  A  hobby,  a  mania,  is  pleasure 
transformed  into  the  shape  of  an  idea  !  Neverthe- 
less, do  not  envy  the  worthy  Pons,  this  sentiment, 
like  others  of  its  kind,  is  based  on  error. 

This  man  of  innate  delicacy,  whose  soul  lived  by 
its  unwearying  admiration  for  the  magnificence  of 
human  workmanship) — that  noble  struggle  with  the 
forces  of  Nature — was  the  slave  of  that  one  of  the 
seven  capital  sins  which  God  should  punish  the 
least  severely.  Pons  was  a  gourmand.  His  lack 
of  fortune  and  his  passion  for  bric-a-brac  condemned 
him  to  an  ascetic  diet  so  abhorrent  to  his  fine  taste, 
that  the  old  celibate  promptly  solved  the  question 
by  going  to  dine  daily  with  his  friends.  Now,  under 


COUSIN  PONS  19 

the  Empire,  there  existed,  much  more  than  in  our 
days,  a  worship  for  celebrated  people,  perhaps  be- 
cause of  their  small  number  and  their  lack  of  politi- 
cal pretension.  One  became  a  poet,  a  writer,  a 
musician,  at  so  little  cost !  Pons,  then  regarded  as 
the  probable  rival  of  the  Nicolos  of  the  Pae'rs,  and  of 
the  Bertons,  received,  therefore,  so  many  invitations 
that  he  was  obliged  to  enter  them  in  a  memorandum 
book,  as  the  lawyers  record  their  cases.  In  his 
quality  of  artist  he  offered  copies  of  his  songs  to  all 
his  amphitryons.  He  touched  the  piano  in  their 
houses,  he  presented  them  with  boxes  at  Feydeau, 
the  theatre  to  which  he  was  attached  ;  he  organized 
concerts  for  them  ;  he  even  played  sometimes  on 
the  violin  in  the  houses  of  his  relatives  in  getting 
up  little  balls.  The  handsomest  men  in  France 
were  in  those  days  exchanging  sabre  cuts  with  theyn 
handsomest  men  of  the  Coalition  ;  the  ugliness  of 
Pons  was  therefore  considered  "  original  "  in  accord- 
ance with  the  grand  law  promulgated  by  Moliere  in 
the  famous  couplet  of  filiante.  When  he  had 
rendered  some  service  to  some  fine  lady  he  some- 
times heard  himself  called  a  charming  man,  but 
his  experience  of  happiness  never  went  beyond  the 
hearing  of  the  words. 

During  this  period,  which  lasted  about  six  years, 
from  1810  to  1816,  Pons  contracted  the  fatal  habit 
of  dining  well,  of  seeing  those  with  whom  he  dined 
living  extravagantly,  procuring  delicacies,  unbottling 
their  best  wines,  solicitous  about  the  dessert,  the 
coffees,  the  liqueurs,  and  giving  him  of  their  best,  as 


20  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

one  did  under  the  Empire,  when  many  households 
imitated  the  splendors  of  the  kings,  the  queens,  the 
princes  with  which  Paris  was  then  crowded.  It 
was  then  very  much  the  fashion  to  play  at  royalty, 
as  to-day  it  is  to  play  at  parliament,  in  creating  crowds 
of  societies,  with  presidents,  vice-presidents  and 
secretaries ;  societies  for  the  linen-trade,  for  the 
wine-trade,  for  the  silk-trade,  agricultural  societies, 
industrial  societies,  etc.  It  has  even  been  pushed 
to  the  extent  of  seeking  out  social  diseases  that  we 
may  organize  their  reformers  into  societies !  A 
stomach  whose  education  has  been  thus  conducted, 
reacts  necessarily  upon  the  moral  constitution  and 
corrupts  it  through  the  high  culinary  knowledge 
which  it  has  acquired.  Sensuality,  lurking  in  every 
fold  of  the  heart,  speaks  there  with  sovereign 
voice,  subverts  the  will,  the  sense  of  honor,  demands 
its  gratification  at  any  price.  No  one  has  ever  yet 
depicted  the  exactions  of  the  human  palate,  they 
escape  literary  criticism  through  the  sheer  necessity 
of  living  ;  but  no  one  has  computed  the  number  of 
those  whom  the  table  has  ruined.  In  this  respect, 
the  table  in  Paris  is  the  rival  of  the  courtesan  ;  it  is, 
moreover,  the  receipt  of  which  she  is  the  expendi- 
ture. When,  from  the  estate  of  perpetual  guest, 
Pons  had  arrived,  through  the  decline  of  his  reputa- 
tion as  artist,  at  the  estate  of  sponging  guest,  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  pass  from  these  well- 
served  tables  to  the  Spartan  broth  of  a  forty-sous 
restaurant.  Alas  !  he  shivered  in  reflecting  that  his 
self-respect  demanded  such  great  sacrifices,  and  he 


COUSIN  PONS  21 

felt  himself  capable  of  the  utmost  meanness  in  order  to 
continue  to  live  well,  to  enjoy  the  luxuries  of  the  sea- 
son, and  in  fine  to  gobble — vulgar  but  expressive  word 
— the  delicious  little  dishes.  Like  a  marauding  bird  fly- 
ing away  with  a  full  crop  and  warbling  an  air  by  way 
of  thanks,  Pons  had  come  to  feel  a  certain  pleasure 
in  thus  living  at  the  cost  of  society,  which  required 
of  him — what  ?  Jest  and  amusement.  Accustomed, 
like  all  bachelors  who  hate  their  own  homes  and 
live  in  the  houses  of  others,  to  these  forms,  to  these 
social  grimaces,  which  replace  in  the  social  world 
true  sentiments,  he  made  use  of  compliments  as  he 
did  of  small  change,  and  with  respect  to  persons  he 
was  satisfied  to  take  them  as  they  were  ticketed, 
without  examining  too  closely  into  their  real  value. 

This  not  intolerable  state  of  affairs  lasted  during 
ten  more  years ;  but  what  years  !  It  was  like  a 
rainy  autumn.  During  all  this  time,  Pons  managed 
to  keep  his  gratuitous  place  at  table  by  rendering 
himself  necessary  in  all  the  houses  in  which  he 
dined.  He  set  foot  in  the  fatal  path  of  executing  a 
multitude  of  commissions,  of  supplying  the  place  of 
the  porters  and  servants  on  very  many  occasions. 
Often  employed  to  make  purchases,  he  became 
the  honest  and  innocent  spy  circulating  from  one 
family  to  another ;  but  he  received  no  thanks  for 
so  many  errands  and  so  many  meannesses. 

"  Pons  is  a  good  fellow,"  they  said.  "  He  does 
not  know  what  to  do  with  his  time,  he  is  only  too 
happy  to  trot  about  for  us — and  then  what  else 
would  he  do  ?" 


22  THE  POOR   RELATIONS 

Soon,  however,  the  fatal  chill  that  the  old  man  dif- 
fuses around  him  began  to  manifest  itself.  This  iciness 
extends,  it  produces  its  effect  on  the  moral  tempera- 
ture, above  all,  when  the  old  man  is  ugly  and  poor. 
Is  that  not  to  be  triply  old  ?  It  was  the  winter  of 
life,  the  winter  of  the  red  nose,  of  wan  cheeks,  of 
all  kinds  of  numbness  ! 


From  1836  to  1843,  Pons  saw  himself  but  seldom 
invited.  Far  from  seeking  this  parasite,  each  family 
accepted  him  as  they  accepted  their  taxes;  they  no 
longer  held  him  of  any  account,  not  even  for  the 
real  services  which  he  rendered  them.  The  families 
among  which  the  poor  man  circulated,  all  of  them 
without  any  respect  for  art,  worshipping  only  ma- 
terial results,  prized  only  that  which  they  had  gained 
since  1830 — fortunes  or  eminent  social  positions. 
Therefore,  Pons,  being  without  sufficient  dignity  of 
mind  or  manners  to  inspire  that  awe  which  wit  or 
genius  imposes  on  the  bourgeois  soul,  had  naturally 
ended  with  becoming  less  than  nothing,  without,  how- 
ever becoming  altogether  despised.  Although  he  suf- 
fered in  this  world  of  cruel  sufferings  like  all  timid 
people,  he  bore  his  sufferings  silently.  Then,  too,  he 
had  become  accustomed  by  degrees  to  repress  his 
feelings,  to  make  of  his  heart  a  sanctuary  into  which 
he  could  retire.  This  phenomenon  many  superficial 
people  translate  as  egotism.  The  resemblance  is 
sufficiently  great  between  the  solitary  soul  and  the 
egotist  for  the  evil  speakers  to  seem  to  have  reason 
on  their  side  as  against  the  man  of  heart,  above  all, 
at  Paris,  where  no  one  observes  carefully,  where 
everything  is  rapid  as  a  flood,  where  everything 
passes  like  the  Ministries! 

Cousin   Pons  was  thus  found  guilty,  under  an 
(23) 


24  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

indictment  of  egotism  drawn  retrospectively  against 
him,  for  the  world  always  ends  by  condemning  those 
whom  it  accuses.  Do  we  not  realize  how  much  an 
unmerited  discredit  overwhelms  the  timid  natures? 
Who  will  ever  paint  the  unhappiness  of  timidity! 
This  situation,  which  became  more  and  more  aggra- 
vated from  day  to  day,  will  explain  the  sadness 
stamped  upon  the  countenance  of  this  poor  musician 
who  lived  by  a  long  series  of  servile  surrenders. 
But  the  abject  meannesses  which  every  passion 
/  exacts  are  so  many  bonds  in  themselves;  the  more 
l^- a-passion  demands  the  more  it  binds  you;  it  turns 
all  these  sacrifices  into  an  ideal  negative  treasure  in 
which  man  sees  immense  riches.  After  enduring 
the  patronizingly  insolent  regard  of  some  rich  bour- 
geois, stiff  with  stupidity,  Pons  tasted  like  a  ven- 
geance the  glass  of  port  wine,  the  quail  au  gratin, 
which  he  had  commenced  to  discuss,  saying  to  him- 
self: 

"  It  is  not  too  dear! " 

To  the  eye  of  the  moralist  there  may  be  found, 
however,  in  this  life,  certain  extenuating  circum- 
stances. In  fact,  man  exists  only  through  some 
species  of  satisfaction.  A  man  without  a  passion,  a 
just  man  made  perfect,  is  a  monster,  a  demi-angel 
who  has  not  yet  his  wings.  The  angels  only  have 
heads  in  the  Catholic  mythology.  Here  below,  on 
the  earth,  the  just  is  the  wearisome  Grandisson  for 
whom  the  Venus  of  the  slums  herself  is  without  sex. 
Now,  excepting  certain  rare  and  vulgar  adventures 
during  his  travels  in  Italy,  where  the  climate  was 


COUSIN  PONS  25 

without  doubt  the  cause  of  his  success,  Pons  had 
never  seen  a  woman  smile  upon  him.  Many  men 
have  this  luckless  destiny.  Pons  was  born  out  of 
time;  his  father  and  his  mother  had  obtained  him  in 
their  old  age,  and  he  bore  the  stigmata  of  this  un- 
seasonable birth  in  his  cadaverous  complexion,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  contracted  in  the  jars  of  alcohol 
in  which  science  preserves  certain  extraordinary 
foetuses.  This  artist,  endowed  with  a  tender,  dreamy, 
delicate  soul,  forced  to  accept  the  character  imposed 
upon  him  by  his  outward  appearance,  despaired  of 
ever  being  loved.  Celibacy  was,  therefore,  with 
him  less  a  choice  than  a  necessity.  Gluttony,  the 
sin  of  virtuous  monks,  tendered  to  him  her  arms;  he 
threw  himself  into  them,  as  he  had  thrown  himself 
into  the  adoration  of  works  of  arts  and  into  his  wor- 
ship of  music.  Good  living  and  bric-a-brac  were 
for  him  the  small  change  for  a  woman;  as  to  music, 
that  was  his  profession,  and  where  can  we  find  a 
man  who  loves  the  trade  by  which  he  lives!  In  the 
long  run,  it  is  of  profession  as  it  is  of  marriage.  You 
feel  of  them  only  the  inconveniences. 

Brillat-Savarin  has  justified,  from  conviction,  the 
art  of  gastronomy;  but  perhaps  he  has  not  suffi- 
ciently insisted  on  the  real  pleasure  which  man  finds 
at  table.  Digestion,  which  employs  the  forces  of  the 
human  body,  constitutes  an  internal  combat  which 
among  the  gastrolaters  is  equivalent  to  the  very 
highest  enjoyment  of  love.  There  is  felt  such  a 
vast  development  of  vital  capacity,  that  the  brain 
annuls  itself  in  the  interests  of  that  secondary  brain 


26  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

placed  in  the  diaphragm,  and  intoxication  ensues 
from  the  very  inertia  of  all  the  faculties.  The  boa- 
constrictors  gorged  with  buffalo  are  so  very  drunken 
that  they  allow  themselves  to  be  killed.  After  forty 
years,  what  man  is  there  who  dares  to  go  to  work 
after  his  dinner? — For  this  reason  all  great  men 
have  been  sober.  Sick  people,  in  convalescing 
from  a  serious  illness,  and  to  whom  a  selected  nour- 
ishment is  carefully  doled  out,  have  often  observed 
a  species  of  gastric  inebriation  produced  by  a  single 
chicken  wing.  The  wise  Pons,  all  of  whose  enjoy- 
ments were  concentrated  in  the  play  of  his  stomach, 
found  himself  often  in  the  situation  of  these  conva- 
lescents; he  exacted  from  good  living  all  the  sensa- 
tions it  was  capable  of  bestowing,  and  he  had  so  far 
obtained  them  daily.  No  one  dares  to  bid  farewell 
to  a  fixed  habit.  Many  a  suicide  has  stopped  short 
on  the  threshold  of  death  by  the  recollection  of  the 
cafe  where  he  played  his  nightly  game  of  dominoes.^ 

In  1835,  chance  avenged  Pons  for  the  indifference 
of  the  fair  sex,  it  gave  him  what  is  familiarly  called, 
a  staff  for  his  old  age.  This  good  man,  old  from  his 
birth,  found  in  friendship  a  prop  for  his  life,  he  con- 
tracted the  only  marriage  which  society  permitted 
him — he  espoused  a  man,  an  old  man,  a  musician 
like  himself.  Were  it  not  for  La  Fontaine's  divine 
fable,  this  sketch  might  have  had  for  title,  "  The 
Two  Friends."  But  would  not  that  have  been  a 
literary  outrage,  a  profanation  before  which  every 
true  writer  would  recoil?  That  masterpiece  of  our 
fable-maker,  at  once  the  disclosure  of  his  soul  and 


COUSIN  PONS  27 

the  history  of  his  dreams,  should  have  the  eternal 
privilege  of  this  title.  The  page  on  which  the  poet 
has  engraved  those  words,  THE  TWO  FRIENDS,  is 
one  of  the  sacred  properties,  a  temple  in  which  each 
generation  will  enter  respectfully  and  which  the 
entire  universe  will  visit  so  long  as  the  art  of  printing 
endures. 

The  friend  of  Pons  was  a  professor  of  the  piano 
whose  life  and  whose  inclinations  sympathized  so 
well  with  his  own  that  he  said  he  had  known  him 
too  late  for  happiness;  for  their  acquaintance,  begun 
at  the  distribution  of  prizes  in  a  boarding  school, 
only  dated  from  1834.  Never,  perhaps,  did  two 
souls  find  themselves  so  similar  in  that  ocean  of 
human  life  which  took  its  rise,  against  the  will  of 
God,  in  the  terrestrial  paradise.  These  two  musi- 
cians became  in  a  short  time  each  a  necessity  for 
the  other.  Reciprocally  confidential  one  with  the 
other,  they  were  in  a  week  like  two  brothers. 
Finally,  Schmucke  no  more  believed  that  there 
could  exist  a  Pons  than  Pons  was  able  to  conceive  , 
that  there  was  a  Schmucke.  This  alone  will  suffice 
to  depict  these  two  worthy  souls,  but  every  intelli- 
gence does  not  equally  appreciate  the  brevity  of  syn- 
thesis. A  slight  demonstration,  therefore,  becomes 
necessary  for  the  benefit  of  the  incredulous. 

This  pianist,  like  all  pianists,  was  a  German, 
German  like  the  great  Liszt,  and  the  great  Mendels- 
sohn, German  like  Steibelt,  German  like  Mozart  and 
Dusseck,  German  like  Meyer,  German  like  Dcehler, 
German  like  Thalberg,  like  Dreschok,  like  Hiller, 


28  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

like  Leopold  Mayer,  like  Crammer,  like  Zimmer- 
mann  and  Kalkbrenner,  like  Herz,  Woe'tz,  Karr, 
Wolff,  Pixis,  Clara  Wieck — in  short,  all  Germans. 
Although  a  great  composer,  Schmucke  could  only 
point  the  way,  so  much  did  his  character  lack  the 
audacity  necessary  to  a  man  of  genius  to  manifest 
himself  in  music.  The  simple  naivete  of  many 
Germans  is  not  continual,  it  comes  to  a  stop;  that 
which  remains  to  them  after  a  certain  age  is  taken, 
as  one  takes  the  water  from  a  canal,  from  the  spring 
of  one's  youth,  and  they  use  it  to  fertilize  their  suc- 
cess in  all  things,  science,  art  or  fortune,  as  it  serves 
them  to  escape  distrust.  In  France,  some  subtle 
people  replace  this  German  innocence  by  the  solidity 
of  the  Parisian  grocer.  But  Schmucke  had  kept  all 
his  child-like  simplicity,  just  as  Pons  carried  on  his 
person,  unawares,  relics  of  the  Empire.  This  genuine 
and  noble  German  was  at  once  both  the  play  and 
the  audience,  he  made  his  music  for  himself.  He 
lived  in  Paris  as  a  nightingale  lives  in  its  forest,  and 
he  there  sang,  alone  of  his  kind,  during  twenty 
years,  until  the  moment  when,  meeting  Pons,  he  met 
his  other  self — see  A  Daughter  of  Eve. 

Pons  and  Schmucke  had  both  of  them  in  abundance 
in  the  heart  and  in  the  character  those  childlike 
sentimentalities  which  distinguish  the  •  Germans, 
such  as  the  passion  for  flowers,  as  the  worship  of 
all  natural  effects,  which  led  them  to  set  glass  globes 
in  their  gardens  in  order  that  they  might  see  in 
miniature  the  great  landscape  which  they  had  before 
their  eyes;  like  that  predisposition  for  discovery 


COUSIN  PONS  29 

which  will  carry  a  German  savant  one  hundred 
leagues  in  his  slippers  to  find  a  truth  which  looks  at 
him  laughing,  all  the  while  seated  on  the  edge  of  the 
well  under  the  jessamine  of  his  own  court-yard:  or, 
in  short,  that  imperious  need  of  attributing  psychi- 
cal significance  to  the  trifles  of  creation  which  pro- 
duces the  inexplicable  works  of  Jean-Paul  Richter, 
the  printed  intoxications  of  Hoffmann,  and  the 
parapets  in  folio  which  Germany  sets  up  around  the 
most  simple  questions,  excavated  into  abysses,  at 
the  bottom  of  which  nothing  is  to  be  found  but  a 
German.  Catholics  both  of  them,  going  to  the  mass 
together,  they  fulfilled  their  religious  duties  like 
children  who  never  have  anything  to  reveal  to  their 
confessors.  They  believed  firmly  that  music,  the 
language  of  Heaven,  was  to  ideas  and  sentiments 
that  which  ideas  and  sentiments  are  to  speech,  and 
they  conversed  interminably  on  this  system,  in 
replying  one  to  the  other  by  orgies  of  music, 
demonstrating  to  themselves  their  own  convictions, 
after  the  fashion  of  all  lovers.  Schmucke  was  as 
absent-minrlpd  as  Pons  was  intent? If  fonswas  a 
collector,  Schmucke  was  a  dreamer;  this  one  studied 
beautiful  moral  things,  the  other  saved  the  beautiful 
material  ones.  Pons  saw  and  bought  a  porcelain 
cup  while  Schmucke  was  blowing  his  nose  in  thinking 
over  some  theme  of  Rossini,  of  Bellini,  of  Beetho- 
ven, of  Mozart,  and  hunting  through  the  world  of 
sentiment  to  find  the  origin  or  the  rejoinder  to  this 
musical  phrase.  Schmucke,  whose  economies  were 
effected  at  hazard;  Pons,  prodigal  by  his  besetting 


30  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

passion,  arrived  one  and  the  other  at  the  same 
result — nothing  in  the  purse  on  the  St.  Sylvester  of 
every  year. 

Without  this  friendship  Rons  might  have  died  of 
his  chagrin ;  but  as  soon  as  he  had  another  heart 
into  which  to  discharge  his  own,  life  became  bear- 
able to  him.  The  first  time  he  confided  his  troubles 
to  Schmucke,  the  worthy  German  counselled  him  to 
live  as  he  did  himself,  on  bread  and  on  cheese,  in  his 
own  house,  rather  than  go  abroad  to  eat  dinners  for 
for  which  he  was  made  to  pay  so  dearly.  Alas  ! 
Pons  dared  not  avow  to  Schmucke  that  within  him 
the  heart  and  the  stomach  were  enemies,  that  the 
stomachdejuanded  that  which  caused  the  heart  to 
suffer,  that  he  was  obliged  to  have,  at  any  price,  a 
good  dinner  to  relish,  just  as  a  man  of  gallantry 
requires  a  mistress  to — torment.  In  course  of  time 
Schmucke  came  to  understand  Pons,  for  he  was  too 
much  of  a  German  to  have  the  quickness  of  obser- 
vation which  the  French  enjoy,  and  he  loved  the 
poor  Pons  only  the  better  for  it.  Nothing  strength- 
ens friendship  more  among  two  friends  than  for  one 
to  feel  himself  superior  to  the  other.  An  angel 
would  have  had  nothing  to  say  in  seeing  Schmucke, 
when  he  rubbed  his  hands  at  the  moment  in  which 
he  discovered  the  intensity  which  the  love  of  good 
eating  had  developed  in  his  friend.  In  fact,  the 
next  day  the  good  German  added  to  their  break- 
fast certain  dainties  which  he  had  bought  himself, 
and  he  took  pains  to  have  every  day  something 
new  for  his  friend  ;  for  ever  since  their  union  they 


COUSIN  PONS  31 

breakfasted    every    day    together    in    their    own 
lodgings. 

It  would  argue  little  knowledge  of  Paris  to  believe 
for   a   moment  that  the   two  friends  had  escaped 
Parisian  ridicule,  which  has  never  respected   any- 
thing.    Schmucke   and   Pons   when   they   married 
their  wealth  and  their  poverty,  had  conceived  the 
economical  idea  of  lodging  together,  and  they  divided 
between  them  the  rent  of  an  apartment  very  un- 
equally divided,  situated  in  a  quiet  house,  in  the 
quiet  Rue  de  Normandie,  in  the  Marais.     As  they 
often  went  out  together   and   traversed  the  same 
boulevards,  side  by  side,  the  idlers  of  the  quarter 
had   christened   them  the  two  Nut-crackers.     This  -  / 
nickname  relieves  us  from  the  necessity  of  giving  A 
here  the  portrait  of  Schmucke,  who  was  to  Pons    f 
what  the  nurse  of  Niobe,  the  famous  statue  of  thex 
Vatican,  is  to  the  Venus  of  the  Tribune. 

Madame  Cibot,  the  concierge  of  this  house,  was 
the  pivot  on  which  the  domestic  arrangements  of 
the  two  Nut-crackers  turned  ;  but  she  plays  such 
an  important  part  in  the  drama  of  their  double  exist- 
ence that  it  is  better  to  reserve  her  portrait  until  the 
moment  of  her  entrance  on  this  scene. 


That  which  now  remains  to  relate  of  the  moral  con- 
stitution of  these  two  beings,  is  that  which  is  precisely 
the  most  difficult  to  bring  to  the  comprehension 
of  the  ninety-nine  one-hundredths  of  the  read- 
ers in  this  forty-seventh  year  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  probably  because  of  the  prodigious  finan- 
cial development  which  has  followed  the  establish- 
ment of  railroads.  It  is  a  very  little  thing,  and  yet 
it  is  a  great  deal.  In  fact,  it  is  necessary  to  give  an 
idea  of  the  excessive  delicacy  of  these  two  hearts. 
Let  us  borrow  a  figure  of  speech  from  the  railway, 
if  only  in  repayment  of  the  loans  they  obtain  from 
us.  To-day  the  trains,  in  dashing  along  the  rails, 
grind  into  the  iron  imperceptible  grains  of  sand. 
Introduce  one  of  these  grains  of  sand,  invisible  to  the 
traveler,  into  his  kidneys,  and  he  endures  the  pains 
of  that  frightful  malady,  the  gravel  ;  possibly  dies 
of  it.  Very  well ;  that  which  for  our  society,  rush- 
ing along  its  metallic  way  with  the  rapidity  of  a 
locomotive,  is  the  invisible  grain  of  sand  of  which 
it  takes  no  notice — this  grain,  perpetually  ground 
into  the  fibres  of  these  two  beings  on  every  occa- 
sion, was  to  them  like  a  gravel  of  the  heart.  Full 
of  exceeding  tenderness  for  the  sorrows  of  others, 
each  of  them  mourned  over  his  own  powerlessness, 
and  in  the  matter  of  their  own  feelings,  both  had 
the  exquisite  sensitiveness  of  the  invalid.  Old  age, 
3  (33) 


34  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  continued  spectacle  of  the  Parisian  drama, 
nothing  had  hardened  these  two  souls,  fresh,  child- 
like and  pure.  T^he  longer  these^Jwo,betn~gs~went 
their  way -the ..keener  weTejEHeiiLinward  sufferings. 
Alas  !  it  is  ever  thus  with  the  chaste  natures,  the 
tranquil  thinkers,  the  true  poets,  who  have  never 
fallen  into  any  excesses. 

Since  the  reunion  of  these  two  old  men,  their  oc- 
cupations, which  were  very  much  alike,  had  assumed 
that  fraternal  sort  of  gait  which  distinguishes  in 
Paris  the  hackney-coach  horses.  Rising  at  seven 
in  the  morning,  winter  and  summer,  after  their  break- 
fast they  went  to  give  their  lessons  in  the  boarding- 
schools,  where,  on  occasions,  each  supplied  the 
other's  place.  Toward  midday  Pons  went  to  his 
theatre,  when  there  happened  to  be  a  rehearsal,  and 
he  gave  to  idleness  every  moment  of  his  leisure. 
In  the  evening  the  two  friends  met  at  the  theatre, 
where  Pons  had  secured  employment  for  Schmucke, 
in  this  wise : 

At  the  time  when  Pons  first  met  Schmucke,  he 
had  just  obtained,  without  seeking  it,  that  marshal's 
baton  of  all  unrecognized  composers,  the  conductor's 
staff,  as  leader  of  an  orchestra!  Thanks  to  Comte 
Popinot,  then  Minister,  this  place  was  secured  for 
the  poor  musician  at  the  moment  when  this  bour- 
geois hero  of  the  revolution  of  July  gave  the  man- 
agement of  the  theatre  to  one  of  those  old  friends 
for  whom  a  parvenue  blushes  when,  rolling  in  his 
carriage,  he  perceives  in  Paris,  some  companion  of 
his  youth,  shabby,  seedy,  out  at  elbows,  wearing  a 


COUSIN  PONS  35 

coat  from  which  the  color  has  fled,  and  with  his  nose 
set  for  affairs  too  lofty  for  his  fugitive  capital.  This 
friend,  named  Gaudissart,  formerly  commercial  trav- 
eler, had  been  at  one  time  very  useful  in  contributing 
to  the  success  of  the  great  house  of  Popinot.  Pop- 
inot,  now  a  count  and  peer  of  France,  after  having 
been  twice  Minister,  never  forgot  THE  ILLUSTRIOUS 
GAUDISSART  !  On  the  contrary,  he  wished  to  give 
the  traveler  an  opportunity  to  replenish  his  ward- 
robe and  refill  his  purse;  for  politics,  the  vanities 
of  the  citizen  court,  had  in  no  wise  corrupted  the 
heart  of  the  former  druggist.  Gaudissart,  always 
crazy  about  women,  asked  for  the  lease  of  a  theatre 
which  had  lately  failed,  and  the  Minister,  in  giving 
it  to  him,  had  taken  care  to  send  him  a  few  old 
amateurs  of  the  fair  sex,  sufficiently  rich  to  create 
a  profitable  stock  company,  interested  chiefly  in  the 
lower  limbs  of  the  performers.  Pons,  a  parasite  of 
the  Hotel  Popinot,  was  a  condition  of  this  license. 
The  Gaudissart  company,  which,  moreover,  made 
its  fortune,  conceived  in  1834,  the  intention  of  real- 
izing on  the  boulevard  this  great  idea — an  opera  for 
the  people.  The  music  for  the  ballets  and  for  the 
spectacular  pieces  required  a  passable  leader  of  the 
orchestra,  and  one  who  was  something  of  a  com- 
poser. The  management  to  which  the  Gaudissart 
company  succeeded  had  been  too  long  on  the  point 
of  failure  to  possess  a  copyist.  Pons  thus  introduced 
Schmucke  into  the  theatre,  in  the  capacity  of  super- 
intendent of  scores,  an  obscure  occupation  which 
nevertheless  required  serious  musical  knowledge. 


36  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Schmucke,  under  Rons'  advice,  made  some  arrange- 
ment with  the  chief  of  this  service  at  the  Opera- 
Comique,  by  which  he  avoided  the  mechanical 
details.  The  association  of  Pons  and  Schmucke  had 
marvelous  results.  Schmucke,  like  all  Germans, 
was  very  strong  in  harmony,  and  attended  carefully 
to  the  instrumentation  of  the  scores  for  which  Pons 
supplied  the  songs.  When  the  connoisseurs  admired 
some  fresh  composition  which  served  as  an  accom- 
paniment to  two  or  three  popular  pieces,  they  ex- 
plained them  to  themselves  by  the  word  progress, 
without  searching  for  the  authors.  Pons  and 
Schmucke  were  eclipsed  in  their  own  glory,  as  cer- 
tain people  have  been  drowned  in  their  own  bath- 
tubs. At  Paris,  especially  since  1830,  no  one  arrives 
at  eminence  without  pushing,  quibuscumque  vtis,  and 
pushing  very  strongly,  through  a  frightful  crowd  of 
competitors;  for  this  was  required,  naturally,  great 
strength  in  the  loins,  and  the  two  friends  had  at 
heart  that  gravel  which  hinders  all  ambitious  actions. 
Ordinarily,  Pons  presented  himself  at  the  orches- 
tra of  his  theatre  at  about  eight  o'clock,  the  hour  at 
which  are  given  those  pieces  in  popular  favor  of 
which  the  overtures  and  the  accompaniments  require 
the  tyranny  of  the  leader's  baton.  This  easy 
arrangement  exists  in  most  of  the  smaller  theatres  ; 
but  Pons  was  allowed  in  this  respect  even  more 
freedom,  because  of  the  great  disinterestedness  he 
showed  in  his  relations  with  the  management. 
Moreover,  Schmucke  supplied  Pons'  place,  if  neces- 
sary. In  course  of  time  the  position  of  Schmucke 


COUSIN   PONS  37 

in  the  orchestra  became  a  settled  one.  The  Illus- 
trious Gaudissart  had  recognized,  without  saying 
anything  about  it,  the  value  and  usefulness  of  Rons' 
assistant.  The  introduction  into  the  orchestra  of  a 
piano,  as  at  the  grand  theatres,  had  become  obliga- 
tory. This  piano,  played  gratuitously  by  Schmucke, 
was  established  near  the  desk  of  the  leader  of  the 
orchestra,  close  to  which  sat  the  volunteer  super- 
numerary. When  they  got  to  know  this  good 
German,  without  ambition  or  pretension,  all  the 
musicians  accepted  him  heartily.  The  management, 
for  a  moderate  stipend,  put  Schmucke  in  charge  of 
those  instruments  which  are  not  usually  represented 
in  the  orchestras  of  the  theatres  of  the  boulevard, 
and  which  are  often  necessary,  such  as  the  piano, 
the  viole  d 'amour,  the  English  horn,  the  violoncello, 
the  harp,  the  castanets  for  the  cachucha,  the  bells, 
the  Saxophone,  etc.  The  Germans,  though  they 
may  not  know  how  to  play  the  glorious  instruments 
of  liberty,  have  a  natural  gift  for  playing  on  the 
instruments  of  music. 

The  two  old  artists,  extremely  beloved  at  the 
theatre,  lived  there  like  philosophers.  They  had 
shut  their  eyes  to  the  inherent  evils  of  the  company 
in  which  the  corps  de  ballet  mingles  with  the  actors 
and  actresses,  one  of  the  worst  combinations  that 
the  necessity  of  drawing  good  houses  has  created 
for  the  torment  of  directors,  authors  and  musicians. 
A  sincere  respect  for  others  and  for  himself  had  won 
the  general  esteem  for  the  good  and  modest  Rons. 
Moreover,  in  every  sphere  a  clear  life  and  a  spotless 


189960 


38  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

honesty  command  a  sort  of  admiration  even  from 
the  worst  hearts.  At_Earisa.  noble  virtue  has  the 
success  of  a  large  dizhuond,  of  _a-xar.e^cyriosity.  Not 
an  actor,  not  an  author,  not  a  dancer,  however  bold 
she  might  be,  would  have  permitted  the  least  jest  or 
the  smallest  trick  against  Pons  or  his  friend.  Rons 
showed  himself  sometimes  in  the  foyer,  but  Schmucke 
knew  only  the  subterranean  passage  which  led 
from  the  exterior  of  the  theatre  to  the  orchestra. 
Between  the  acts,  when  he  assisted  at  a  represen- 
tation, the  good  old  German  ventured  to  look  about 
him  at  the  house  and  sometimes  question  the  first 
flute — a  young  man  born  at  Strasburg  of  a  German 
family  of  Kehl — concerning  the  eccentric  personages 
who  nearly  always  garnish  the  regions  of  the  pros- 
cenium. Little  by  little  the  childlike  imagination 
of  Schmucke,  whose  social  education  was  undertaken 
by  this  flute,  admitted  the  fabulous  existence  of  the 
lorette,the  possibilities  of  marriages  in  the  thirteenth 
arrondissement,  the  prodigalities  of  a  suggestive 
subject,  and  the  contraband  commerce  of  the  box- 
openers.  The  innocencies  of  vice  appeared  to  this 
worthy  man  the  last  word  of  Babylonian  iniquity, 
and  he  smiled  at  them  as  he  would  have  done  at 
Chinese  arabesques.  The  knowing  ones  will  readily 
understand  that  Pons  and  Schmucke  were  exploited, 
to  use  a  phrase  of  the  day;  but  that  which  they  lost 
in  money  they  gained  in  consideration  and  good  will. 
After  the  success  of  a  ballet  which  commenced 
the  rapid  fortune  of  the  Gaudissart  company,  the 
directors  presented  Pons  with  a  group  in  silver, 


COUSIN  PONS  39 

attributed  to  Benvenuto  Cellini,  the  astounding  price 
of  which  had  been  a  topic  of  conversation  in  the 
green  room.  It  was  an  affair  of  twelve  hundred 
francs!  The  poor,  honest  man  wished  to  return 
this  gift!  Gaudissart  had  the  greatest  pains  to  make 
him  keep  it. 

"Ah,  if  we  could  only  find,"  said  he  to  his  asso- 
ciate, "  actors  of  that  stripe!" 

This  double  life,  so  calm  in  appearance,  was 
troubled  solely  by  the  vice  to  which  Pons  sacrificed 
this  ferocious  necessity  of  dining  abroad.  Thus, 
whenever  Schmucke  chanced  to  be  at  home  when 
Pons  was  dressing,  the  good  German  bewailed  this 
fatal  habit. 

"  Und  subbose  eet  mayg  you  vat,"  he  sometimes 
cried,  with  his  Teutonic  accent. 

And  Schmucke  brooded  over  schemes  to  cure  his 
friend  of  this  degrading  vice,  for  two  friends  are 
endowed,  in  the  moral  order  of  things,  with  that 
perfection  to  which  is  brought  the  sense  of  smell  in 
dogs;  they  scent  the  cares  of  their  friends,  they 
divine  the  causes,  and  they  are  preoccupied  with 
them. 

Pons,  who  wore  always  on  the  little  finger  of  his 
left  hand  a  diamond  ring,  tolerated  under  the  Em- 
pire, but  now  considered  ridiculous;  Pons,  far  too 
much  of  a  troubadour,  and  too  much  of  a  French- 
man, gave  no  sign  on  his  physiognomy  of  the  divine 
serenity  which  tempered  the  frightful  ugliness  of 
Schmucke.  The  German  had  recognized  in  the 
melancholy  expression  on  the  face  of  his  friend  the 


40  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

increasing  difficulties  which  rendered  this  trade  of 
the  parasite  more  and  more  painful.  In  fact,  in 
October,  1844,  the  number  of  houses  where  Pons 
dined  had  become  naturally  very  much  restricted. 
The  poor  chief  of  orchestra,  reduced  to  the  rounds 
of  his  own  relations,  had,  as  we  shall  see,  extended 
beyond  all  bounds  the  meaning  of  the  word  family. 

The  ancient  laureate  was  first  cousin  to  the  first 
wife  of  M.  Camusot,  the  rich  silk  merchant  of  the 
Rue  des  Bourdonnais,  a  demoiselle  Pons,  sole  heir- 
ess of  one  of  the  famous  Pons  Brothers,  embroi- 
derers to  the  Court,  a  house  in  which  the  father  and 
mother  of  the  musician  had  been  sleeping-partners, 
after  having  founded  it  before  the  Revolution  of 
1789,  and  which  was  purchased  by  M.  Rivet  in  1815, 
from  the  father  of  the  first  Madame  Camusot.  This 
Camusot,  having  retired  from  business  for  the  last 
ten  years,  was,  in  1844,  member  of  the  General 
Council  on  Manufactures,  Deputy,  etc.  Taken  into 
friendship  by  the  tribe  of  Camusot,  the  honest  Pons 
considered  himself  as  cousin  of  the  children  which 
the  silk  merchant  had  had-  by  his  second  marriage, 
although  they  were  in  fact  nothing  whatever  to  him, 
not  even  connections. 

The  second  Madame  Camusot  being  a  demoiselle 
Cardot,  Pons  introduced  himself  as  a  relation  of  the 
Camusots  to  the  numerous  family  of  the  Cardots,  a 
second  bourgeois  tribe  which  through  its  marriages 
formed  a  society  not  less  important  than  that  of  the 
Camusots.  Cardot,  the  notary,  brother  of  the  sec- 
ond Madame  Camusot,  had  married  a  demoiselle 


COUSIN  PONS  41 

Chiffreville.  The  celebrated  family  of  the  Chiffre- 
villes,  the  head  of  all  chemical  products,  was  united 
with  the  wholesale  drug  trade  of  which  the  cock  of 
the  roost  was  for  a  long  time  M.  Anselme  Popinot, 
whom  the  Revolution  of  July  had  launched,  as  we 
know,  into  the  very  heart  of  the  most  dynastic  poli- 
tics. And  Pons,  hanging  to  the  skirts  of  the  Cam- 
usots  and  the  Cardots,  came  into  the  family  of  the 
Chiffrevilles,  and  from  thence  into  that  of  the 
Popinots — always  in  his  character  of  a  cousin  of 
cousins. 

This  slight  sketch  of  the  latest  relations  of  the 
old  musician  will  enable  the  reader  to  understand 
how  it  was  that  in  1844  he  was  received  on  familiar 
terms;  first,  in  the  house  of  M.  le  Comte  Popinot, 
peer  of  France,  formerly  Minister  of  Agriculture 
and  of  Commerce;  secondly,  in  the  house  of  M. 
Cardot,  retired  notary  and  now  Mayor  and  Deputy 
of  an  arrondissement  of  Paris;  third,  in  that  of  the 
old  M.  Camusot,  deputy  member  of  the  Municipal 
Council  of  Paris  and  of  the  Council-General  of 
Manufactures,  now  in  expectation  of  a  peerage; 
fourth,  in  that  of  M.  Camusot  de  Marville,  son  of 
the  first  wife,  and  therefore  the  true,  the  only  real 
cousin  to  Pons,  although  once  removed. 

This  Camusot,who,  to  distinguish  himself  from  his 
father  and  his  half-brother,  had  added  to  his  name 
that  of  his  estate  of  de  Marville,  was,  in  1844,  pre- 
sident of  chamber  of  the  Cour  Royale  of  Paris. 

The  former  notary,  Cardot,  having  married  his 
daughter  to  his  successor,  named  Berthier,  Pons 


42  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

being  part  of  the  business,  as  it  were,  managed  to 
lay  hold  of  that  dinner  also — "  before  a  notary," 
as  he  said. 

Such  was  the  bourgeois  firmament  which  Rons 
called  his  family,  and  in  which  he  had  so  painfully 
maintained  his  rights  to  a  knife  and  fork. 


Of  these  ten  houses,  that  one  in  which  the 
artist  quite  expected  to  be  the  most  welcome,  the 
household  of  the  President  Camusot,  was  the  object 
of  his  greatest  care.  But,  alas!  the  president's 
wife,  daughter  of  the  late  sieur  Thirion,  usher  to 
the  Cabinet  of  the  Kings  Louis  XVIII.  and  Charles 
X.,  had  never  treated  very  kindly  her  husband's  half- 
cousin.  In  endeavoring  to  soften  this  terrible  rela- 
tion, Pons  had  lost  much  time,  for  after  having  given 
gratuitous  lessons  to  Mademoiselle  Camusot  he  had 
found  it  impossible  to  make  a  musician  of  that  rather 
florid  young  lady.  Now,  Pons,  with  the  precious 
object  in  his  hand,  was  at  this  moment  directing  his 
course  toward  the  house  of  his  cousin,  the  presi- 
dent, where  he  used  to  fancy  himself,  on  entering, 
in  the  Tuileries,  so  great  an  effect  did  the  solemn" 
green  draperies,  the  hangings  of  Carmelite  brown, 
the  moquette  carpets,  the  severe  furniture  of  this 
apartment,  in  which  breathed  the  most  severely 
magisterial  air,  act  upon  his  mind.  Strangely 
enough,  he  felt  at  his  ease  in  the  Hotel  Popinot,  in 
the  Rue  Basse-du-Rempart,  doubtless  because  of  the 
works  of  art  which  he  found  there;  for  the  former 
Minister  had,  since  his  entrance  into  political  life, 
contracted  the  mania  for  collecting  choice  things, 
probably  in  opposition  to  the  science  of  politics, 
which  collects,  secretly,  the  vilest  actions. 

(43) 


44  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

The  President  de  Marville  lived  in  the  Rue  de 
Hanovre,  in  a  house  bought  by  his  wife  within  the 
last  ten  years,  after  the  death  of  her  father  and 
mother,  the  sieur  and  dame  Thirion,  who  had  left 
her  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  of 
their  savings.  This  house,  whose  aspect  on  the 
street  where  it  faces  north  is  sufficiently  gloomy, 
enjoys  a  southern  exposure  at  the  back  on  a  court- 
yard beyond  which  extends  a  rather  handsome 
garden.  The  magistrate  occupied  the  whole  of  the 
first  floor,  which,  under  Louis  XV.,  had  been  the 
residence  of  one  of  the  greatest  financiers  of  the 
time.  The  second  floor  being  leased  to  a  rich  old 
lady,  the  whole  house  presented  a  tranquil  and 
honorable  appearance  quite  in  keeping  with  its 
official  character.  The  remains  of  the  magnificent 
estate  of  Marville,  to  the  acquisition  of  which  the 
magistrate  had  devoted  his  savings  of  twenty  years, 
as  well  as  the  fortune  derived  from  his  mother,  com- 
prised the  chateau,  a  splendid  monument  such  as 
may  still  be  met  with  in  Normandy,  and  a  good  farm 
which  brought  in  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year.  A 
park  of  one  hundred  hectares  surrounded  the 
chateau.  This  luxury,  princely  in  this  day,  cost 
the  president  one  thousand  crowns,  so  that  his  lands 
did  not  bring  him  in  more  than  nine  thousand  francs 
in  hand,  as  they  say.  These  nine  thousand  francs 
and  his  salary  gave  to  the  president  an  income  of 
some  twenty  thousand  francs  all  told,  apparently  a 
sufficient  sum,  especially  as  he  expected  the  half  of 
his  father's  property,  seeing  that  he  was  the  only 


COUSIN  PONS  45 

child  of  the  first  marriage;  but  the  life  of  Paris  and 
the  demands  of  their  official  position  had  obliged  M. 
and  Madame  Marville  to  expend  almost  the  whole 
of  their  revenues.  Up  to  1834  they  were  pressed 
for  money. 

This  inventory  of  their  property  will  explain  why 
Mademoiselle  de  Marville,  a  young  lady  of  twenty- 
three  years  of  age,  was  not  yet  married,  in  spite  of  her 
one  hundred  thousand  francs  of  dot,  and  in  spite  also 
of  the  tempting  bait  of  her  future  expectations,  skil- 
fully and  frequently,  but  fruitlessly  presented.  For 
at  least  five  years  Cousin  Pons  had  been  listening  to 
the  mournful  complaints  of  the  president's  wife, 
who  saw  all  the  deputies  married,  the  new  judges 
of  the  tribunals  already  fathers  of  families,  and  who 
had  vainly  displayed  the  apparent  prospects  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Marville  before  the  uncharmed 
eyes  of  the  young  Viscount  Popinot,  eldest  son  of  the 
great  chief  of  the  wholesale  druggists,  for  whose 
especial  benefit,  according  to  the  envious  souls  of  the 
Quartier  des  Lombards,  quite  as  much  as  for  that 
of  the  younger  branch,  the  Revolution  of  July  had 
been  brought  about. 

When  Pons  reached  the  Rue  de  Choiseul,  and 
was  about  to  turn  into  the  Rue  de  Hanovre,  he  ex- 
perienced that  inexplicable  emotion  which  is  the 
torment  of  pure  consciences,  which  inflicts  on  them 
the  terror  felt  by  the  greatest  scoundrels  at  sight 
of  a  gendarme,  and  which  in  this  case  was  caused 
entirely  by  the  doubt  as  to  how  he  might  be  re- 
ceived by  Madame  la  Presidente.  This  grain  of 


46  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

sand  which  was  tearing  the  fibres  of  his  heart,  had 
never  yet  worn  itself  smooth  ;  its  angles,  on  the 
contrary,  grew  only  more  and  more  cutting,  and  the 
inhabitants  of  this  house  incessantly  polished  and 
sharpened  them  still  further.  In  fact,  the  small  ac- 
count that  the  Camusots  made  of  their  cousin  Pons, 
his  cheapness  in  the  bosom  of  the  family,  reacted 
upon  the  domestics,  who,  without  manifestations  of 
actual  dislike  toward  him,  considered  him  as  a 
species  of  pauper. 

The  capital  enemy  of  poor  Pons  was  a  certain 
Madeleine  Vivet,  an  old  maid,  lean  and  dry,  the 
femme  de  chambre  of  Madame  C.  de  Marville  and 
of  her  daughter.  This  Madeleine,  in  spite  of  her 
pimpled  complexion,  and  perhaps  because  of  these 
pimples,  and  of  the  viperous  sinuosities  of  her  figure, 
had  taken  into  her  head  to  become  Madame  Pons. 
She  displayed  vainly  before  the  eyes  of  the  old  celi- 
bate her  twenty  thousand  francs  of  savings,  but 
Pons  declined  the  pimpled  happiness.  Therefore, 
this  Dido  of  the  ante-chamber,  who  wished  to  be- 
come the  cousin  of  her  masters,  played  the  most 
spiteful  tricks  upon  the  poor  old  musician.  When 
she  heard  his  step  on  the  stairs,  she  would  exclaim 
shrilly,  "Ah!  here  comes  the  sponger,  "  trying  to 
make  him  hear  the  words.  If  she  waited  at  table 
in  the  absence  of  the  footman,  she  would  pour  very 
little  wine  and  a  great  deal  of  water  into  the  glass  of 
her  victim,  giving  him,  at  the  same  time,  the  difficult 
task  of  getting  it  safely  to  his  lips  without  spilling  a 
drop,  full  as  it  was  to  overflowing.  She  would 


COUSIN  PONS  47 

forget  to  serve  the  worthy  man  until  reminded  of  it  by 
her  mistress — and  in  what  a  tone  ! — the  poor  cousin 
blushed  at  it — and  then  she  would  spill  the  sauce 
on  his  clothes.  It  was,  in  short,  the  warfare  of  an 
inferior,  knowing  herself  unpunishable,  against 
an  unfortunate  superior.  As  housekeeper  and 
lady's  maid,  Madeleine  had  served  M.  and  Madame 
Camusot  since  their  marriage.  She  had  seen  her 
employers  in  the  penury  of  their  early  life  in  the 
provinces,  when  Monsieur  Camusot  had  been  Judge 
of  the  Tribunal  at  Alengon  ;  she  had  helped  them 
to  live  when  he  was  President  of  the  Tribunal  of 
Mantes.  M.  Camusot  came  to  Paris  in  1828,  and  was 
appointed  juge  d' instruction.  She  was  thus  too  close 
to  the  family  not  to  have  some  motives  for  revenge. 
This  desire  to  play  her  proud  and  ambitious  mistress 
the  ill  turn  of  becoming  her  master's  cousin,  cov- 
ered one  of  those  sullen  hatreds  engendered  by  the 
gravel  which  causes  avalanches. 

"Madame,  here's  your  Monsieur  Pons,  spencer 
and  all,"  cried  Madeleine  to  the  president's  wife. 
"  He  might  at  least  tell  me  by  what  process  he  has 
managed  to  keep  it  for  the  last  twenty-five  years!" 

Hearing  a  man's  step  in  the  little  salon  which  was 
between  the  large  salon  and  her  bedroom,  Madame 
Camusot  looked  at  her  daughter  and  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 

"You  always  inform  me  with  so  much  intelli- 
gence, Madeleine,  that  I  have  no  time  to  decide  on 
anything,"  said  the  president's  wife. 

"  Madame,   Jean  is  out,  I  was  alone,  Monsieur 


48  THE  POOR   RELATIONS 

Rons  rang,  I  opened  the  door  to  him,  and  as  he  is 
almost  like  one  of  the  household,  I  could  not  prevent 
him  from  following  me;  he  is  out  there,  taking  off 
his  spencer." 

"My  poor  kitten,"  said  the  president's  wife  to 
her  daughter,  "we  are  caught!  We  shall  have  to 
dine  at  home.  Come,"  she  added,  seeing  the  piteous 
face  of  her  dear  little  kitten,  "  shall  we  get  rid  of 
him  once  for  all?" 

"O,  the  poor  man,"  answered  Mademoiselle 
Camusot,  "  deprive  him  of  one  of  his  dinners!" 

The  little  salon  here  resounded  with  the  fictitious 
coughing  of  a  man  who  wishes  to  thus  say  "  I  hear 
you." 

"  Very  well,  let  him  come  in,"  said  Madame  Cam- 
usot to  Madeleine,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 

"You  have  come  so  early,  cousin,"  said  Cecile 
Camusot,  with  a  little  malicious  air,  "that  you 
have  surprised  us  just  as  my  mother  was  going  to 
dress." 

Cousin  Pons,  who  had  not  failed  to  see  the  move- 
ment of  the  shoulders  of  the  president's  wife,  was 
so  cruelly  hit  that  he  found  no  compliment  ready, 
and  was  fain  to  content  himself  with  this  profound 
remark : 

"You  are  always  charming,  my  little  cousin!" 

Then  turning  toward  the  mother  with  a  bow : 

"Dear  cousin,"  he  added,  "you  will  not,  I  am 
sure,  blame  me  for  coming  a  little  earlier  than  usual. 
I  bring  you  something  which  you  did  me  the  pleasure 
to  ask  for—" 


COUSIN  PONS  49 

~' 

And  the  luckless  Pons,  who  literally  sawed  in  two 
the  president's  wife  and  Cecile  every  time  that  he 
called  them  "cousin,"  drew  from  the  side-pocket 
of  his  coat  a  ravishing  little  oblong  box  made  of 
mahaleb  wood  and  exquisitely  carved. 

"Ah,  I  had  forgotten  it,"  said  the  president's  wife, 
drily. 

\yas  not  thift  fy^|amation  atrocious!  Was  it  not^ 
calculated  to  take  away  all  the  merit  from  the  atten- 
tion of  the  relative,  whose  only  fault  was  that  of 
being  a  poor  relation^ 

"But,"  she  resumed,  "you  are  very  good,  my 
cousin.  Do  I  owe  you  a  great  deal  of  money  for 
this  little  trifle?" 

This  question  caused  the  poor  man  an  internal 
shudder.  He  had  counted  on  paying  off  the  score 
of  his  dinners  by  the  offer  of  this  jewel. 

"  I  had  hoped  that  you  would  permit  me  to  offer 
it  to  you,"  said  he,  in  a  voice  of  some  emotion. 

"Well,  well,"  replied  Madame  Camusot,  "  but 
between  us,  let  us  have  no  ceremony;  we  know 
each  other  well  enough  to  wash  our  linen  together. 
I  know  that  you  are  not  rich  enough  to  make  war  at 
your  own  expense.  Is  it  not  already  enough  that 
you  have  taken  the  trouble  to  spend  your  time  run- 
ning about  among  the  shops?" — 

"  You  would  not  wish  this  fan  at  all,  my  dear 
cousin,  if  you  should  be  obliged  to  pay  the  value  of 
it,"  replied  the  poor  man,  much  wounded,  "  for  it  is 
a  masterpiece  by  Watteau,  who  painted  both  sides 
of  it;  but  don't  disturb  yourself,  my  dear  cousin,  I 
4 


50  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

did  not  pay  the  hundredth  part  of  the  value  of  this 
work  of  art." 

To  say  to  a  rich  person  "You  are  poor!"  is  like 
telling  the  Archbishop  of  Granada  that  his  homilies 
are  worthless.  Madame  de  Marville  was  much  too 
proud  of  the  position  of  her  husband,  of  the  owner- 
ship of  the  estate  of  Marville,  and  of  her  invita- 
tions to  the  court  balls,  not  to  be  touched  to  the 
quick  by  such  a  remark,  especially  coming  from  a 
miserable  musician  to  whom  she  wished  to  stand  in 
the  attitude  of  a  benefactress. 

fhey  are  then  monstrously  stupid,  the  people 
from  whom  you  buy  such  things  ?  " — she  said, 
quickly. 

"  There  are  no  stupid  dealers  known  in  Paris," 
replied  Pons,  almost  drily. 

"Then  it  is  you  who  are  very  clever,"  said 
Cecile,  to  calm  the  debate. 

"  My  little  cousin,  I  have  wit  enough  to  know 
Lancret,  Pater,  Watteau,  Greuze;  but  above  all,  I 
have  the  desire  to  please  your  dear  mamma." 

Ignorant  and  vain  as  she  was,  Madame  de  Marville 
did  not  wish  to  have  the  air  of  receiving  the  smallest 
gift  from  her  poor  relation,  and  her  ignorance  in  this 
case  served  her  admirably;  she  did  not  even  know 
the  name  of  Watteau.  If  anything  can  express  the 
lengths  to  which  the  self-love  of  the  collectors 
— which  is  certainly  one  of  the  keenest,  for  it  rivals 
the  self-love  of  an  author — can  go,  it  is  the  audacity 
with  which  Pons  had  just  dared  to  make  head  against 
his  cousin  for  the  first  time  in  twenty  years. 


COUSIN  PONS  51 

Stupefied  at  his  own  courage,  Pons  subsided  into  a 
pacific  state  in  explaining  to  Cecile  the  beauties  of 
the  delicate  carving  on  the  sticks  of  this  marvelous 
fan.  But  to  understand  fully  the  secret  of  the  sin- 
cere trepidation  to  which  the  poor  man  was  a  prey, 
it  is  necessary  to  give  a  slight  sketch  of  the  presi- 
dent's wife. 


At  forty-six  years  of  age,  Madame  de  Mar- 
ville,  formerly  petite,  blonde,  plump,  and  fresh,  was 
still  petite,  but  had  now  become  withered.  Her 
prominent  forehead,  her  pinched  mouth,  which  was 
adorned  in  youth  in  delicate  tints,  had  changed  her 
expression,  naturally  disdainful,  and  given  her  a 
sullen  look.  The  ha  hit  of  abcoluto  control  in-her 
own  house  had  given  a  hard  and  disagreeable  ex- 
pression to  her  countenance.  The  lapse  of  time 
had  changed  her  blonde  hair  to  a  faded  chestnut 
color.  The  eyes,  still  keen  and  caustic,  revealed  a 
judicial  haughtiness  embittered  by  a  concealed  envy. 
In  fact,  the  president's  wife  found  herself  almost  a 
poor  woman  in  the  midst  of  that  society  of  bourgeois 
parvenus  in  which  Pons  was  in  the  habit  of  dining. 
She  could  not  forgive  the  rich  druggist,  former  presi- 
dent of  the  Tribunal  of  Commerce,  for  having  be- 
come successively  Deputy  Minister,  Count,  and 
Peer.  She  could  not  forgive  her  father-in-law  for 
accepting,  to  the  detriment  of  his  eldest  son,  the  ap- 
pointment of  deputy  from  his  arrondissement,  at  the 
time  when  Popinot  was  raised  to  the  peerage.  After 
eighteen  years  of  service  in  the  courts  of  Paris,  she 
waited  still  for  Camusot's  appointment  to  the  place  of 
Councillor  to  the  Court  of  Cassation,  from  which,"! 
however,  he  was  excluded  by  an  incapacity  well  1 
known  at  the  Palais.  The  Minister  of  Justice  in  1844^-4 
(53) 


54  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

regretted  the  appointment  of  Camusot  to  the  presi- 
dency, obtained  in  1834;  but  he  had  been  relegated 
to  the  Chamber  of  Indictments,  where,  thanks  to 
his  old  experience  as  juge  d' instruction,  he  rendered 
good  service  in  deciding  arrests.  These  mishaps,  after 
wearing  upon  Madame  de  Marville — who,  moreover, 
did  not  deceive  herself  as  to  the  actual  value  of  her 
husband — had  rendered  her  really  terrible.  Her 
character,  always  aggressive,  had  become  exasper- 
ating. Rather  aging  than  old,  she  had  made  herself 
sharp  and  harsh,  like  a  brush,  in  order  to  obtain 
through  fear  that  which  all  the  world  seemed  dis- 
posed to  refuse  her.  Satirical  to  excess,  she  had 
but  few  friends.  She  was  held  in  awe,  but  she 
surrounded  herself  with  a  number  of  devoted  old 
friends  of  her  own  quality,  who  upheld  her  under 
peril  of  retaliation.  Thus,  the  relations  of  poor 
Rons  with  this  devil  in  petticoats,  were  like  those  of 
a  scholar  with  the  master  who  addressed  him  only 
with  a  ferule.  The  president's  wife  could  not  ex- 
plain to  herself  the  sudden  boldness  of  her  cousin; 
she  was  ignorant  of  the  value  of  his  gift. 

"  Where  did  you  find  this?"  asked  Cecile,  exam- 
ining the  treasure. 

"  Rue  de  Lappe,  at  a  second-hand  dealer's,  who 
had  just  got  it  from  a  chateau  they  have  dismantled 
near  Dreux,  at  Aulnay — a  chateau  in  which  Madame 
de  Pompadour  occasionally  resided  before  she  built 
Menars;  there  have  been  saved  from  it  the  most 
splendid  wainscotings  known;  they  are  so  fine  that 
Lienard,  our  celebrated  carver  in  wood,  has  kept  of 


COUSIN  PONS  55 

them,  as  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  art,  two  oval  panels 
for  models. — Such  treasures!  My  dealer  found  this 
fan  in  a  bonheur-du-jour  of  marquetry,  which  I  should 
have  bought  if  I  collected  such  things;  but  it  was 
unattainable — a  piece  of  furniture  by  Reisener  is 
worth  from  three  to  four  thousand  francs!  They 
are  just  beginning  to  recognize  in  Paris  that  the 
famous  German  and  French  workers  in  wood  of  the 
sixteenth,  seventeenth,  and  eighteenth  centuries 
have  composed  veritable  pictures  in  wood.  The 
merit  of  a  collector  is  to  be  before  the  fashion. 
Why!  five  years  hence,  they  will  pay  in  Paris  for 
the  porcelains  of  Frankenthal,  which  I  have  been 
collecting  for  the  last  twenty  years,  twice  as  much 
as  they  do  now  for  the  pate  tendre  of  Sevres." 

"What  is  Frankenthal?"  asked  Cecile. 

"  It  is  the  name  of  the  manufactory  of  porcelains 
of  the  Elector-Palatine;  it  is  older  than  our  manu- 
factory at  Sevres,  just  as  the  famous  gardens  of 
Heidelberg,  ruined  by  Turenne,  had  the  misfortune 
to  exist  before  Versailles.  Sevres  has  copied  a 
great  deal  from  Frankenthal. — The  Germans,  we 
must  give  them  this  credit,  made,  before  we  did, 
admirable  things  in  Saxony  and  in  the  Palatinate." 

The  mother  and  daughter  looked  at  each  other  as    "! 
if  Pons  were  speaking  to  them  in  Chinese,  for  it  is 
difficult  to  imagine  how  ignorant  and  limited  are 
the  Parisians;  they  only  know  what  they  are  told, 
though  they  may  wish  to  learn. 

"  How  do  you  know  Frankenthal  when  you  see 
it?" 


56  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Why,  by  the  signature,"  cried  Rons  enthusias- 
tically. "All  these  ravishing  masterpieces  are 
signed.  The  Frankenthal  bears  a  C  and  a  T 
— Charles  Theodore — interlaced  and  surmounted  by 
a  prince's  coronet.  The  old  Dresden  has  two  swords 
and  the  number  of  its  class  in  gold.  Vincennes 
signs  with  a  horn.  Vienna  has  a  V  closed  and 
barred.  Berlin  has  two  bars.  Mayence  has  the 
wheel.  Sevres,  the  two  LL's;  and  the  porcelain  of 
the  queen,  an  A,  meaning  Antoinette,  surmounted 
by  the  royal  crown.  In  the  eighteenth  century  all 
the  sovereigns  of  Europe  were  rivals  in  the  manufac- 
ture of  porcelains.  They  enticed  away  each  other's 
workmen.  Watteau  designed  dinner  services  for  the 
manufactory  at  Dresden,  and  his  works  have  reached 
insane  prices. — It  is  necessary  to  be  very  well  ac- 
quainted with  them,  because  to-day  Dresden  repeats 
and  recopies  them. — Ah!  in  those  days  they  made  ad- 
mirable things,  such  as  they  will  never  make  again. ' ' — 

"Ah!  bah!" 

"  Yes,  cousin,  they  can  never  make  again  certain 
marquetries,  certain  porcelains,  just  as  they  can 
never  make  again  Raphaels,  Titians,  nor  Rem- 
brandts,  nor  Van  Eycks,  nor  Cranachs! — Why,  the 
Chinese  are  wonderfully  skilful,  wonderfully  clever, 
and  yet  to-day  they  are  recopying  the  fine  speci- 
mens of  their  old  porcelains,  called  Grand  Man- 
darins. Why,  two  vases  of  old  Grand  Mandarins, 
of  the  largest  size,  are  worth  six,  eight,  ten  thou- 
sand francs,  and  you  can  get  the  modern  copies  for 
two  hundred  francs!" 


COUSIN  PONS  57 

"You  are  joking." 

"Cousin,  these  prices  astonish  you,  and  yet  they 
are  nothing.  A  full  dinner  service  for  twelve  per- 
sons, in  pate  tendre  of  Sevres,  which  is  not  porce- 
lain, is  worth  a  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  that, 
moreover,  is  the  actual  cost  of  its  manufacture.  A 
service  of  that  kind  was  sold  at  Sevres,  in  1750,  for 
fifty  thousand  livres.  I  have  seen  the  original  bill 
of  sale." 

"  To  come  back  to  this  fan,"  said  Cecile,  to  whom 
that  treasure  seemed  much  too  old. 

"You  will  understand  that  I  began  to  hunt  for  it 
as  soon  as  your  dear  mamma  did  me  the  honor  to 
request  a  fan,"  replied  Rons.  "I  looked  through 
all  the  shops  of  Paris  without  finding  anything 
worthy;  for,  for  the  dear  Madame  President,  I  wished 
a  masterpiece,  and  I  thought  of  presenting  to  her 
the  fan  of  Marie  Antoinette,  the  most  beautiful  of 
all  the  celebrated  fans,  but  yesterday  I  was  dazzled 
by  this  divine  chef-d'oeuvre,  which  Louis  XV.  himself 
had  certainly  ordered.  Why  did  I  go  to  seek  a  fan 
in  the  Rue  de  Lappe,  in  the  shop  of  an  Auvergnat, 
who  sells  brasses,  and  iron  work,  and  gilded  furni- 
ture? Well,  I  believe  in  the  intelligence  of  objets 
d'art;  they  know  their  connoisseurs,  they  call  them, 
they  say  '  Zit,  Zit!'  "— 

The  president's  wife  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
glancing  at  her  daughter  without  Pons  being  able  to 
perceive  this  rapid  movement. 

"I  know  them  all,  those  grabbers!  'What  have 
you  new,  Papa  Monistrol?  Have  you  any  panels 


58  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

for  doors?'  I  asked  this  trader,  who  always  lets  me 
look  over  his  things  before  he  shows  them  to  the 
large  dealers.  To  this  question,  Monistrol  recounted 
to  me  how  Lienard,  who  was  carving  in  the  chapel 
at  Dreux  some  very  beautiful  things  for  the  civil 
list,  had  rescued  at  the  sale  at  Aulnay  all  the  carved 
woodwork,  from  the  hands  of  the  Parisian  dealers, 
while  they  were  occupied  with  the  porcelains  and 
the  inlaid  furniture.  'I  have  nothing  very  great,' 
said  he  to  me, '  but  I  could  pay  for  my  journey  with 
that,'  and  he  showed  me  the  bonheur-du-jour ,  a 
marvel!  It  was  from  designs  by  Boucher,  executed 
in  marquetry,  with  such  art! — You  wanted  to  go 
down  on  your  knees  before  it!  'You  see,  monsieur,' 
he  said,  '  I  have  just  found  in  a  locked  drawer,  of 
which  the  key  was  lost,  and  which  I  broke  open, 
this  fan!  You  can  very  well  tell  me  to  whom  I 
shall  sell  it.' — And  he  drew  out  for  me  this  little  box 
in  mahabel  wood,  carved.  '  See,  it  is  that  sort  of 
Pompadour  which  resembles  the  flowery  Gothic.' — 
'  Oh,'  I  replied  to  him,  '  the  box  is  pretty.  It  may 
come  to  me — the  box.  As  to  the  fan,  my  old  Mon- 
istrol, I  have  no  Madame  Pons  to  whom  to  give  this 
old  treasure;  besides,  they  now  make  new  ones, 
mighty  pretty.  They  paint  to-day  this  vellum  mir- 
aculously and  cheaply  enough.  Do  you  know  that 
there  are  two  thousand  painters  in  Paris?'  And  I 
unfolded  carelessly  the  fan,  concealing  my  admira- 
tion, looking  coldly  at  the  two  little  paintings  of  a 
freedom  and  execution  that  is  ravishing.  I  held  in 
my  hand  the  fan  of  Madame  de  Pompadour!  Watteau 


COUSIN   PONS  59 

exterminated  himself  to  compose  this!  '  How  much 
do  you  want  for  the  whole  piece  of  furniture?'  — 
'  Oh,  one  thousand  francs;  I  have  been  offered  that 
already.'  I  named  a  price  for  the  fan  which  corre- 
sponded to  the  probable  expenses  of  his  journey. 
We  looked  at  each  other  then,  ir 


r  and  I  saw  that  I  had  my  man.  Then  I  put 
the  fan  back  into  its  box,  so  that  the  Auvergnat 
would  not  take  to  examining  it  closely,  and  I  went 
into  ecstacies  over  the  workmanship  of  this  box, 
which  is  certainly  a  gem.  'If  I  buy  it,'  said  I  to 
Monistrol,  '  it  is  because  of  that;  you  see  it  is  only 
the  box  which  tempts  me.  As  to  your  bonlieur-du- 
jour,  you  can  get  more  than  one  thousand  francs  for 
that.  See  there,  how  those  brasses  are  chiseled! 
They  are  models  —  you  can  make  a  great  thing  of 
that  —  it  has  not  been  reproduced,  it  was  made  unique 
for  Madame  de  Pompadour  '  —  and  my  man,  all  on 
fire  for  his  bonheur-du-jour,  forgot  the  fan;  he  let 
me  have  it  for  nothing,  in  return  for  the  revelation  I 
had  made  him  of  the  beauty  of  this  piece  of  furni- 
ture of  Reisener.  There  it  is!  But  it  requires  plenty 
of  practice  to  be  able  to  drive  such  bargains  as  that! 
It  is  a  combat  of  eye  to  eye,  and  where  is  there  an 
eye  like  that  of  the  Jew  or  an  Auvergnat!" 

The  admirable  pantomime,  the  spirit  of  the  old 
artist,  which  made  of  him,  recounting  the  triumph  of 
his  genius  over  the  ignorance  of  the  dealer,  a  model 
worthy  of  a  Dutch  painter,  were  all  lost  upon  the  presi- 
dent's wife  and  her  daughter,  who  exchanged  be- 
tween them  a  cold  and  disdainful  glance  which  meant: 


60  THE   POOR  RELATIONS 

"What  an  original!" — 

"That  sort  of  thing  amuses  you,  then?"  asked 
the  president's  wife. 

Rons,  chilled  by  this  question,  experienced  a  lively 
desire  to  beat  the  president's  wife. 

"  Why,  my  dear  cousin,"  he  said,  "  it  is  the  chase 
after  masterpieces!  You  find  yourself  face  to  face 
with  adversaries  who  defend  the  game!  It  is  ruse 
for  ruse!  A  chef-d'oeuvre  in  the  hands  of  a  Norman, 
a  Jew,  or  an  Auvergnat — why,  its  like  a  princess 
guarded  by  magicians,  in  the  fairy  stories!" 

"  How  do  you  know  it  is  Wat — what  did  you  call 
him?" 

"Watteau,  my  dear  cousin,  one  of  the  greatest 
French  painters  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Here, 
don't  you  see  the  signature!"  said  he,  in  showing 
her  one  of  the  pastorals  which  represented  a  round 
danced  by  fictitious  shepherdesses  and  by  shepherd 
grand  seigneurs.  "What  swing!  What  spirit!  What 
color!  And  how  it's  done!  All  with  one  stroke! 
like  the  flourish  of  a  writing  master;  you  do 
not  feel  the  work  in  it!  And  on  the  other  side,  see! 
a  ball  in  a  salon!  It  is  the  winter  and  the  summer! 
And  what  ornaments!  and  how  well  preserved! 
You  see,  the  ferrule  is  in  gold,  and  it  is  finished  on 
each  side  by  a  little  bit  of  a  ruby,  which  I  have 
cleaned!" 

•  "  If  that  is  so,  cousin,  I  really  cannot  accept  from 
you  a  gift  of  so  much  value.  It  would  be  much 
better  for  you  to  invest  the  money  in  govern- 
ment bonds,"  said  the  president's  wife,  who  would 


COUSIN  PONS  6l 

nevertheless  have  liked  nothing  better  than  to  keep 
this  magnificent  fan. 

"It  is  high  time  that  that  which  has  served  vice 
should  fall  into  the  hands  of  virtue!"  said  the  worthy 
man,  recovering  his  self-possession.  "  It  has  taken 
one  hundred  years  to  bring  about  this  miracle.  You 
may  be  sure  that  at  the  ancient  court  no  princess 
had  anything  comparable  with  this  chef-d'oeuvre; 
for  it  is  unfortunately  in  human  nature  to  do  more 
for  a  Pompadour  than  for  a  virtuous  queen!" 

"Very  well,  I  accept  it,"  said  Madame  de  Mar- 
ville,  laughing. — "  Cecile,  my  little  angel,  go,  will 
you,  with  Madeleine  to  see  that  the  dinner  is  worthy 
of  our  cousin?" — 

The  president's  wife  wished  to  square  the  account. 
This  message,  spoken  aloud,  contrary  to  the  rules  of 
good  breeding,  resembled  so  much  the  receipt  for  a 
payment,  that  Pons  blushed  like  a  young  girl  de- 
tected in  a  fault.  The  gravel  this  time  was  a  little 
too  coarse,  and  it  rolled  about  for  some  time  in  his 
unfortunate  heart.  Cecile,  a  very  reddish  young 
person,  infected  with  pedantry,  imitated  the  judicial 
gravity  of  her  father,  and  feeling  the  dryness  of  her 
mother,  disappeared,  leaving  the  poor  Pons  alone 
with  the  terrible  president's  wife. 

"  She  is  very  sweet,  my  little  Lili,"  said  Madame 
de  Marville,  using  the  childish  abbreviation  formerly 
given  to  the  name  of  Cecile. 

"Charming,"  replied  the  old  musician,  twirling 
his  thumbs. 

"  I  cannot   understand   the  times  in  which  we 


62  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

live,"  resumed  the  president's  wife.  "Of  what 
use  is  it  to  have  had  for  father  a  president  of  the 
Cour  Royale  of  Paris,  and  a  Commander  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor;  for  grandfather,  a  millionaire 
deputy,  a  future  peer  of  France,  and  the  richest  of 
all  the  wholesale  silk  merchants?" 

The  devotion  of  the  president  to  the  new  dynasty 
had  recently  secured  for  him  the  Ribbon  of  a  Com- 
mander of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  a  favor,  attributed 
by  some  certain  envious  ones,  to  the  friendship 
which  allied  him  with  Popinot.  That  minister,  in 
spite  of  his  natural  modesty,  had  allowed  himself, 
as  we  have  seen,  to  be  made  a  count.  "For  the 
sake  of  my  son,"  he  would  say  to  his  numerous 
friends. 

"  It  is  only  the  money  that  one  wants  nowadays," 
replied  Cousin  Pons;  "  none  but  the  rich  are  re- 
spected, and — " 

"  What  might  not  have  happened,"  cried  the  presi- 
dent's wife,  "if  Heaven  had  left  me  my  poor  little 
Charles!"— 

"  Oh,  with  two  children  you  would  have  been 
poor,"  replied  the  cousin.  "This  is  the  result  of 
the  equal  division  of  property;  but  do  not  worry, 
my  beautiful  cousin.  Cecile  will  certainly  end  by 
making  a  good  marriage.  I  do  not  see  anywhere  a 
young  girl  as  accomplished  as  she." 

Thus  you  may^see  how  Pons  debased  his  soul 
before  his  amphitryoris^  he  repeated  their  ideas,  and 
he  uttered  platitudes  upon  them  after  the  fashion  of 
a  Greek  chorus.  He  dared  not  surrender  himself  to 


COUSIN  PONS  63 

that  originality  which  distinguishes  the  true  artist, 
and  which  in  his  youth  had  been  abundant  in  him, 
but  the  habit  of  effacing  himself  had  by  this  time 
nearly  destroyed  it,  and  it  was  suppressed  when- 
ever, as  at  this  moment,  it  gave  signs  of  reap- 
pearance. 

"  But  I  was  married  with  twenty  thousand  francs 
of  dot  only — " 

"Ah,  in  1819,  my  cousin,"  interrupted  Pons. 
"And  besides,  it  was  you,  a  woman  of  intelligence, 
a  young  girl  under  the  protection  of  the  king,  Louis 
XVIII !" 

"  But  all  the  same,  my  daughter  is  an  angel  of 
perfection,  of  wit;  she  is  full  of  heart,  she  will  have 
one  hundred  thousand  francs  in  marriage,  without 
counting  her  expectations,  and  here  she  is  still  on 
our  hands — " 


Madame  de  Marville  continued  to  talk  of  her 
daughter  and  of  herself  during  the  next  twenty 
minutes,  delivering  the  same  complaints  peculiar  to 
mothers  who  are  under  the  power  of  marriageable 
daughters.  During  the  last  twenty  years  in  which 
the  old  musician  had  been  in  the  habit  of  dining 
with  his  only  cousin  Camusot,  the  poor  man  had 
never  heard  a  word  of  his  personal  affairs,  or  of  his 
life,  or  of  his  health.  Pons  was,  moreover,  a  species 
of  receptacle  for  all  domestic  confidences;  his  well- 
known  and  necessary  discretion  offered  the  strongest 
security,  for  a  single  indiscreet  word  from  him  would 
have  closed  in  his  face  the  doors  of  ten  houses.  His 
vocation  of  listener  was,  therefore,  accompanied  by 
a  constant  approbation;  he  smiled  at  everything,  he 
accused  and  he  defended  no  one;  for  him  every- 
body was  right.  Thus,  in  short,  he  could  no  longer 
be  reckoned  as  a  man — he  was  only  a  stomach!  In 
the  course  of  her  long  tirade,  the  president's  wife 
admitted,  though  not  without  some  precaution,  to 
her  cousin,  that  she  was  disposed  to  accept  for  her 
daughter,  almost  blindly,  any  proposals  that  might 
present  themselves.  She  even  went  so  far  as  to  say 
that  she  should  consider  a  man  of  forty-eight  years 
of  age  a  good  match,  provided  he  had  twenty  thous- 
and francs  of  income. 

"  Cecile  is  in  her  twenty -third  year,  and  if  she 
5  (65) 


66  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

should  be  so  unlucky  as  to  reach  twenty-five  or 
twenty-six,  it  would  be  excessively  difficult  to  marry 
her.  The  world  asks  why  a  young  girl  '  hangs 
fire '  so  long.  Already  people  in  our  society  are 
talking  a  great  deal  too  much  of  this  situation.  We 
have  exhausted  all  the  commonplace  reasons — '  She 
is  still  young — She  loves  her  parents  too  much  to 
leave  them — She  is  happy  in  her  own  home — She 
is  difficult  to  please — She  wishes  a  distinguished 
name.' — We  are  getting  ridiculous,  I  am  well  aware 
of  it.  Besides,  Cecile  herself  is  weary  of  waiting; 
she  suffers,  poor  little  thing." — 

"  But  of  what?"  asked  Pons  foolishly. 

"Why,"  replied  the  mother  in  the  tone  of  a 
duenna,  "she  is  humiliated  by  seeing  all  her  friends 
married  before  her." 

"  My  dear  cousin,  what  is  it  that  has  happened 
since  I  last  had  the  pleasure  of  dining  here,  that  you 
should  be  thinking  of  a  man  of  forty-eight  years  of 
age?"  asked  the  poor  musician  humbly. 

"This  has  happened,"  answered  the  president's 
wife.  "  We  were  to  have  had  an  interview  with  a 
councillor  of  the  court,  who  has  a  son  of  thirty 
years  of  age  and  whose  fortune  is  considerable,  and 
for  whom  M.  de  Marville  would  have  obtained, 
through  the  financial  administration,  a  post  as  ref- 
eree in  the  Cour  des  Comptes.  The  young  man  is 
already  there  as  a  supernumerary.  And  they  now 
say  to  us  that  this  young  man  has  had  the  folly  to 
go  off  to  Italy  in  the  train  of  a  duchess  of  the  Bal 
Mabille. — It  is  a  disguised  refusal.  They  do  not 


COUSIN  PONS  67 

want  to  give  us  a  young  man  whose  mother  is  dead 
and  who  enjoys  already  an  income  of  thirty  thous- 
and francs,  while  waiting  for  his  father's  fortune. 
So  you  must  pardon  our  ill-humor,  dear  cousin;  you 
have  come  in  just  at  our  crisis." 

While  Pons  was  trying  to  find  one  of  those  com- 
plimentary replies  which  invariably  came  to  him  too 
late,  in  presence  of  the  amphitryon  of  whom  he 
stood  in  awe,  Madeleine  entered,  handed  a  note  to 
Madame  de  Marville,  and  waited  for  a  reply.  The 
message  was  as  follows:— 

"  Let  us  pretend,  dear  mamma,  that  this  word  has 
been  sent  to  us  from  the  Palais  by  my  father,  and 
that  he  tells  you  to  bring  me  to  dine  with  his  friend 
and  renew  the  offer  of  my  marriage.  The  cousin 
may  then  go  away,  and  we  can  follow  out  our  plans 
at  the  Popinots." 

"How  did  your  master  send  this  note?"  asked 
Madame  de  Marville,  quickly. 

"  By  a  messenger  from  the  Palais,"  boldly  an- 
swered the  withered  Madeleine. 

By  this  reply,  the  old  waiting  woman  indicated  to 
her  mistress  that  she  had  got  up  this  plot  in  concert 
with  the  impatient  Cecile. 

"  Say  that  my  daughter  and  I  will  be  there  at 
half-past  five." 

As  soon  as  Madeleine  disappeared,  the  president's 
wife  looked  at  the  cousin  Pons  with  that  sham 
friendship  which  produces  on  the  sensitive  soul  the 


68  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

effect  that  vinegar  and  milk  mixed  together  produce 
on  the  tongue  of  an  epicure. 

"  My  dear  cousin,  the  dinner  is  ordered;  you  must 
eat  it  without  us,  for  my  husband  writes  to  me  from 
the  court  room  to  say  that  the  project  of  the  mar- 
riage is  still  considered  by  the  councillor,  and  we  are 
to  dine  there  to-day. — You  understand  that  there  is 
no  ceremony  between  us.  Make  yourself  here  en- 
tirely at  home.  You  see  the  frankness  with  which 
I  treat  you;  I  have  no  secrets — you  would  not  wish 
to  interfere  with  the  marriage  of  this  little  angel?" 

"  I,  my  dear  cousin,  on  the  contrary  I  should  like 
'nothing  better  than  to  find  her  a  husband;  but  in  the 
circle  I  visit — " 

"Yes,  it  is  not  very  probable,"  interrupted  the 
president's  wife,  impolitely.  "Well,  then,  you  will 
stay?  Cecile  will  keep  you  company  while  I 
dress." 

"  Oh,  cousin,  I  can  go  and  dine  elsewhere,"  said 
the  poor  man. 

Although  cruelly  affected  by  the  manner  in  which 
the  president's  wife  had  made  him  feel  his  indigence, 
he  was  still  more  appalled  by  the  prospect  of  being 
left  alone  with  the  servants. 

"  But  why? — The  dinner  is  ready;  the  servants 
will  eat  it." 

When  he  heard  this  horrible  speech,  Pons  started 
up  erect,  as  though  the  knob  of  a  galvanic  battery 
had  touched  him,  bowed  coldly  to  his  cousin,  and 
went  to  put  on  his  spencer.  The  door  of  Cecile's 
bedroom,  which  opened  into  the  salon,  was  ajar,  so 


COUSIN  PONS  69 

that  as  he  glanced  before  him  into  a  mirror,  Pons 
perceived  the  young  girl  in  fits  of  laughter,  signaling 
to  her  mother  by  means  of  her  head  and  by  panto- 
mimic gestures  which  revealed  some  base  mystifica- 
tion to  the  old  artist.  He  went  slowly  down  the 
staircase,  with  difficulty  restraining  his  tears;  he  saw 
himself  driven  out  of  this  house  without  knowing 
why. 

"  I  am  too  old  nowadays,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  the  world  holds  in  horror  old  age  and  poverty,  two 
hideous  things.  I  will  never  dine  anywhere  again 
without  an  invitation." 

Heroic  words!— 

The  door  of  the  kitchen,  which  was  on  the  ground 
floor  and  faced  the  lodge,  was  open,  as  it  frequently 
is  in  houses  that  are  occupied  by  their  owners,  and 
where  the  porte  cochere  is  always  closed.  Pons 
could  therefore  hear  the  laughter  of  the  cook  and  the 
valet  de  chambre,  to  whom  Madeleine  was  relating 
the  trick  just  played  upon  him,  for  she  did  not  sup- 
pose that  the  worthy  man  would  evacuate  the  place 
so  promptly.  The  valet  de  chambre  approved  highly 
of  this  pleasantry  directed  against  a  habitue  of  the 
house  who,  as  he  said,  never  gave  anything  but  a 
little  crown  for  the  New  Year's  gifts! 

"  Oh,  but  if  he  take  offense  and  never  come 
back,"  remarked  the  cook,  "we  will  have  three 
francs  less  for  all  of  us  on  New  Year's  day." 

"  Well,  how  should  he  hear  of  it?"  said  the  valet 
de  chambre,  in  reply. 

"  Bah!"  cried  Madeleine,  "a  little  sooner,  a  little 


70  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

later,  what  does  it  matter?  He  bores  so  much  the 
masters  of  all  the  houses  where  he  dines  that  before 
long  they  will  all  turn  him  out." 

At  this  moment  the  old  musician  called:  "  The 
door,  if  you  please,"  to  the  concierge,  so  that  she 
might  open  it.  This  dolorous  cry  was  received  with 
profound  silence  in  the  kitchen. 

"  He  heard,"  said  the  valet  de  chambre. 

"Oh,  well!  so  much  the  worse,  or  rather  so  much 
the  better,"  replied  Madeleine;  "he's  a  dead  rat." 

The  poor  man,  who  had  not  lost  a  syllable  of  this 
kitchen  talk,  heard  even  these  last  words.  He-re- 
turned home  along  the  boulevards  in  the  condition 
of  an  old  woman  who  has  had  a  desperate  struggle 
with  assassins.  He  walked,  talking  to  himself,  with 
a  convulsive  swiftness,  for  his  bleeding  honor  pushed 
him  along  like  a  straw  before  a  furious  wind.  At 
last  he  found  himself  on  the  Boulevard  du  Temple  at 
five  o'clock,  without  knowing  in  the  least  how  he 
got  there;  but,  extraordinary  to  relate,  Tie  did  not 
feel  the  least  appetite. 

Now,  in  order  to  comprehend  the  revolution  which 
the  return  of  Pons  at  this  hour  was  about  to  produce 
in  his  own  house,  the  explanation  heretofore  prom- 
ised as  to  Madame  Cibot,  must  now  be  given. 


The  Rue  de  Normandie  is  one  of  those  streets  in 
which  you  might  think  yourself  in  the  provinces; 
grass  flourishes  there,  and  a  passer-by  is  an  event, 
and  all  the  inhabitants  know  each  other.  The 
houses  date  from  the  period  when,  under  Henry  IV., 
a  quarter  was  laid  out  in  which  each  street  was  to 
bear  the  name  of  a  province,  and  in  the  centre  of 
which  a  fine  square  was  to  be  dedicated  to  France 
herself.  The  idea  of  the  Quartier  de  1'Europe  was 
a  repetition  of  this  plan.  The  world  repeats  itself 
in  everything,  everywhere,  even  in  theory.  The 
house  in  which  the  two  musicians  dwelt  was  an 
ancient  hotel  between  court  and  garden;  but  the 
front  on  the  street  had  been  built  at  a  time  during 
the  last  century  when  the  Marais  had  been  the 
extreme  of  fashion.  The  two  friends  occupied  the 
whole  of  the  second  floor  of  the  ancient  hotel.  This 
double  house  belonged  to  M.  Pillerault,  an  octoge- 
narian, who  had  left  the  management  of  it  to  M.  and 
Madame  Cibot,  as  door-keepers,  for  the  last  twenty- 
six  years.  Now,  as  the  emoluments  of  a  door-keeper 
of  the  Marais  are  not  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  live 
by  the  profits  of  his  occupation,  the  Sieur  Cibot  added 
to  his  tithe  of  a  sou  per  franc,  and  his  billet  levied 
upon  each  load  of  wood,  the  income  from  his  per- 
sonal industries;  he  was  a  tailor,  like  many  another 
concierge.  In  course  of  time,  Cibot  had  ceased  to 


72  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

work  for  the  master  tailors;  for,  in  consequence  of 
the  confidence  reposed  in  him  by  the  smaller  bour- 
geois of  the  quarter,  he  enjoyed  a  monopoly  of 
repairs,  darns,  renovations  as  good  as  new,  of  the 
garments  within  a  perimeter  of  three  streets.  His 
lodge  was  large  and  airy;  it  adjoined  a  bedroom. 
Thus  the  Cibot  household  was  considered  as  one  of 
the  most  fortunate  among  Messieurs  the  concierges 
of  the  arrondissement. 

Cibot,  a  little  stunted  man,  grown  olive-colored 
by  dint  of  sitting  forever  cross-legged,  like  a  Turk, 
on  a  table  raised  to  the  level  of  a  barred  window 
looking  on  the  street,  earned  by  his  trade  about 
forty  sous  a  day.  He  worked  still,  although  he  was 
fifty -eight  years  of  age;  but  fifty-eight,  that  is  the 
fine  age  for  concierges;  by  that  time  they  have 
become  fitted  into  their  lodgings,  the  lodge  has 
become  for  them  that  which  the  shell  is  for  the  oys- 
ter, and  they  are  known  in  the  quarter ! 

Madame  Cibot,  formerly  a  handsome  oyster- 
woman,  had  left  her  stand  at  the  Cadran  Bleu,  for 
love  of  Cibot,  at  the  age  of  twenty-eight,  after  all 
the  adventures  which  a  beautiful  oyster-seller 
encounters  without  seeking  them.  The  beauty  of 
the  women  of  the  people  seldom  lasts  long,  especially 
when  they  are  trained,  like  a  wall  fruit,  at  the  door 
of  a  restaurant.  The  scorching  blaze  of  the  kitchen 
reflected  on  their  features  hardens  them;  the  rem- 
nants of  the  bottles,  drunk  in  company  with  the 
waiters,  filters  through  their  complexions,  and  no 
flower  ripens  more  quickly  than  that  of  the  handsome 


COUSIN  PONS  73 

oyster-woman.  Luckily  for  Madame  Cibot,  legiti- 
mate marriage  and  the  life  of  a  concierge  came 
in  time  to  preserve  her;  she  remained  like  a  model 
of  Rubens,  keeping  her  vigorous  beauty,  which  her 
rivals  of  the  Rue  de  Normandie  calumniated  in 
qualifying  as  puffy.  Her  flesh  tints  might  be  com- 
pared to  those  appetizing  mounds  of  the  butter  of 
Isigny  to  be  seen  in  the  markets;  and  yet,  notwith- 
standing her  corpulence,  she  displayed  an  incom- 
parable agility  in  the  exercise  of  her  functions. 
Madame  Cibot  had  attained  the  age  when  this  style 
of  women  are  obliged  to  resort  to  the  razor.  Is  not 
that  the  same  as  saying  that  she  was  forty-eight 
years  of  age?  A  female  door-keeper  with  a  mous- 
tache is  one  of  the  greatest  guarantees  of  security 
and  order  that  a  proprietor  can  have.  If  Delacroix 
could  have  seen  Madame  Cibot  posing  proudly  on 
her  broom,  certainly  he  would  have  made  of  her  a 
Bellona! 

The  position  of  the  Cibot  couple,  to  speak  in  legal 
manner,  was  destined  strangely  enough  to  affect  one 
day  that  of  the  two  friends;  thus  the  historian,  if  he 
would  be  faithful,  is  obliged  to  enter  into  some  details 
on  this  subject  of  their  lodge.  The  house  brought 
a  rental  of  about  eight  thousand  francs,  for  it  had 
three  suites  of  apartments,  double  in  depth,  upon 
the  street,  and  three  in  the  ancient  hotel  between 
the  court  and  the  garden.  In  addition  to  these,  a 
trader  in  old  iron,  named  Remonencq,  occupied  a 
shop  on  the  street.  This  Remonencq,  who  had 
developed  within  a  few  months  into  the  dignity  of  a 


74  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

merchant  of  curiosities,  was  so  well  acquainted  with 
the  bric-a-brac  value  of  Pons  that  he  always  bowed 
to  him  from  the  depths  of  his  shop,  whenever  the 
musician  entered  or  went  out.  Thus  the  sou  per 
franc  brought  about  four  hundred  francs  a  year  to 
the  Cibot  household,  which  moreover  got  its  lodging 
and  firewood  for  nothing.  Now,  as  the  earnings  of 
the  husband  amounted  to  about  seven  hundred  or 
eight  hundred  francs  a  year  on  an  average,  the 
couple  made  up,  counting  their  New  Year's  gratuities, 
an  income  of  sixteen  hundred  francs,  all  of  which 
they  spent,  for  they  lived  better  than  the  majority  of 
{•'the  common  people.  "You  only  live  once,"  said 
\  Madame  Cibot.  Born  during  the  revolution,  she 
\  was  ignorant,  as  you  see,  of  the  catechism. 
•*""  Through  her  former  relations  with  the  Cadran 
Bleu,  this  belle  concierge,  with  proud  and  orange- 
colored  eyes,  had  preserved  certain  culinary  accom- 
plishments which  rendered  her  husband  an  object 
of  envy  for  all  his  associates.  Thus  it  happened 
that  at  their  present  ripe  maturity,  on  the  threshold 
of  old  age,  the  Cibots  found  themselves  with  not  a 
hundred  francs  of  savings.  Well-clothed,  well 
nourished,  they  enjoyed  throughout  the  quarter  the 
consideration  due  to  twenty-six  years  of  strict 
probity.  If  they  owned  no  property,  at  least  they 
"  owed  to  no  one  not  a  centime,"  according  to  their 
own  expression,  for  Madame  Cibot  was  prodigal  of 
negatives  in  her  conversation.  She  said  to  her 
husband,  "Thou  art  not  no  fool!"  Why?  You 
might  as  well  demand  the  reason  of  her  indifference 


COUSIN  PONS  75 

in  matters  of  religion.  Proud,  both  of  them,  of 
their  honest  lives,  open  to  the  daylight,  of  the 
esteem  in  which  they  were  held  by  six  or  seven 
streets,  and  of  the  autocratic  power  which  their 
proprietor  allowed  them  to  exercise  in  the  house, 
they  yet  groaned  in  secret  at  having  no  invested 
means.  Cibot  complained  of  twinges  in  his  hands 
and  legs,  and  Madame  Cibot  deplored  the  fact  that 
her  poor  Cibot  was  compelled  to  work  at  his  age. 
The  day  will  come  when  after  thirty  years  of  such 
a  life,  a  concierge  will  accuse  the  government  of  in- 
justice and  demand  that  he  be  given  the  decoration 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor!  Every  time  that  the  gos- 
sips of  the  quarter  learned  that  such  and  such  a  ser- 
vant, after  eight  or  ten  years  of  service,  had  retired 
with  a  little  legacy  of  three  or  four  hundred  francs 
annuity,  there  circulated  from  lodge  to  lodge  such 
complaints  as  might  give  an  idea  of  the  jealousy  with 
which  are  devoured  all  the  inferior  professions  in 
Paris. 

"  There  now!  It  will  never  happen  to  any  of  us 
poor  devils  to  get  mentioned  in  a  will!  We  have  no 
luck!  We  are  more  useful  than  a  servant,  however, 
any  day.  We  are  people  of  responsibility,  we  make 
out  the  receipts,  we  watch  over  the  property,  but  we 
are  treated  like  dogs,  neither  more  nor  less!" 

"  There  is  nothing  but  work  and  bad  luck,"  said 
Cibot,  mending  a  coat. 

"  If  I  had  left  Cibot  to  his  lodge  and  gone  as  a 
cook,  we  would  have  had  thirty  thousand  francs  in- 
vested by  this  time,"  cried  Madame  Cibot,  gossiping 


76  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

with  her  neighbors,  with  her  hands  on  her  big  hips. 
"I  have  not  taken  life  right, — talk  about  being  lodged 
and  warmed  inside  a  good  home  and  wanting  for 
nothing!" 

When  in  1836  the  two  friends  came  to  occupy  the 
second  floor  of  the  ancient  hotel,  they  occasioned  a 
sort  of  revolution  in  the  Cibot  household.  In  this 
way.  Schmucke  had,  as  also  his  friend  Rons,  the 
custom  of  employing  the  door-keepers,  male  and 
female,  of  the  houses  in  which  he  lodged,  to  take 
charge  of  his  rooms.  The  two  musicians  were 
therefore  of  the  same  mind,  when  they  installed 
themselves  in  the  Rue  de  Normandie,  to  make  an 
arrangement  with  Madame  Cibot,  who  became  their 
housekeeper  for  the  consideration  of  twenty-five 
francs  a  month,  twelve  francs  and  fifty  centimes 
for  each.  At  the  end  of  the  year  this  portress 
emerita  reigned  over  the  household  of  the  two 
old  bachelors,  just  as  she  reigned  over  the  estab- 
lishment of  M.  Pillerault,  the  great-uncle  of  Madame 
la  Comtesse  Popinot;  their  affairs  were  her  affairs, 
and  she  said:  "My  two  gentlemen."  Finally, 
finding  the  two  Nut-crackers  mild  as  sheep,  easy  to 
live  with,  not  in  the  least  suspicious,  perfect  chil- 
dren, she  gradually  grew,  with  her  heart  of  a  woman 
of  the  people,  into  the  habit  of  protecting  them,  of 
adoring  them,  of  serving  them,  with  so  veritable  a 
devotion  that  she  delivered  to  them  occasional  lec- 
tures and  defended  them  against  the  many  frauds 
which  combine  in  Paris  to  swell  the  expenses  of  the 
household.  For  twenty-five  francs  a  month  the 


COUSIN  PONS  77 

two  bachelors,  without  premeditation  and  without 
being  aware  of  it,  had  acquired  a  mother.  As  they 
grew  to  perceive  Madame  Cibot's  real  value,  the 
two  musicians  artlessly  presented  her  with  little 
eulogiums,  with  thanks,  with  small  gifts,  which  drew 
still  closer  the  bonds  of  this  domestic  alliance. 
Madame  Cibot  would  rather  a  thousand  times  be 
appreciated  at  her  just  value  than  paid;  a  sentiment 
which,  be  it  understood,  always  amplifies  wages. 
Cibot  executed  for  half  price,  the  errands,  the  mend- 
ings, everything  which  concerned  the  service  of  his 
wife's  two  old  gentlemen. 

Finally,  in  the  second  year,  a  new  element  of 
mutual  friendship  was  developed  in  the  close  relation 
between  the  second  floor  and  the  porter's  lodge. 
Schmucke  concluded  a  bargain  with  Madame  Cibot 
which  satisfied  at  once  his  own  indolence  and  his 
desire  to  live  without  bothering  himself  with  any- 
thing. For  the  sum  of  thirty  sous  a  day,  or  forty- 
five  francs  a  month,  Madame  Cibot  took  upon 
herself  to  supply  him  with  breakfast  and  dinner. 
Pons,  finding  his  friend's  breakfast  very  satisfactory, 
made  a  like  bargain  for  his  own  breakfast  at  eighteen 
francs  a  month.  This  system  of  supplies,  which 
threw  about  ninety  francs  a  month  into  the  receipts 
of  the  lodge,  made  of  the  two  lodgers  inviolate 
beings,  angels,  cherubim,  divinities.  It  is  exceed- 
ingly doubtful  if  the  king  of  the  French,  with  all  his 
experience  in  these  matters,  was  as  well  served  as 
were  the  two  Nut-crackers.  For  them  the  milk  came 
pure  from  the  can ;  they  read  gratuitously  the 


78  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

newspapers  of  the  first  and  third  floors,  whose  tenants 
rose  late  and  who  could  be  told,  if  necessary,  that 
their  journals  had  not  yet  come.  Madame  Cibot, 
moreover,  kept  the  apartment,  the  clothes,  the 
landing,  everything,  in  a  state  of  cleanliness  worthy 
of  the  Flemings.  Schmucke,  for  his  part,  enjoyed 
a  happiness  for  which  he  had  never  dared  to  hope; 
Madame  Cibot  made  life  easy  for  him.  He  gave 
about  six  francs  a  month  for  his  washing,  of  which 
she  took  charge,  as  well  as  of  all  his  mending.  He 
expended  fifteen  francs  a  month  for  tobacco.  These 
three  items  of  expense  formed  a  monthly  total  of 
sixty-six  francs,  which,  multiplied  by  twelve,  gives 
seven  hundred  and  ninety-two  francs.  Add  two 
hundred  and  twenty  francs  for  rent  and  extras,  and 
you  have  a  thousand  and  twelve  francs.  Cibot 
made  Schmucke's  clothes,  and  the  average  of  this 
expense  amounted  to  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
francs.  This  profound  philosopher,  then,  lived  at  a 
cost  of  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year.  How 
many  people  in  Europe  whose  sole  desire  is  to 
come  and  live  at  Paris,  will  be  agreeably  sur- 
prised to  learn  that  you  can  be  happy  there  with 
twelve  hundred  francs  of  income,  in  the  Rue  de 
Normandie,  in  the  Marais,  under  the  protection  of 
Madame  Cibot! 

Madame  Cibot  was  stupefied  in  seeing  the  good 
Rons  come  home  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
Not  only  had  such  a  thing  never  happened  before, 
but  her  "  Monsieur  "  did  not  even  see  her,  and  did 
not  bow  to  her. 


COUSIN  PONS  79 

"Ah,  well,  Cibot!"  she  said  to  her  husband, 
"  Monsieur  Pons  is  either  a  millionaire  or  crazy!" 

"It  looks  like  it,"  replied  Cibot,  letting  fall  the 
sleeve  of  a  coat  in  which  he  was  making,  to  use  the 
slang  of  tailors,  a  poignard. 

At  the  moment  when  Pons  mechanically  re-entered 
his  house,  Madame  Cibot  was  just  finishing  the 
dinner  of  Schmucke.  This  dinner  consisted  of  a 
certain  ragout,  of  which  the  odor  was  diffused 
throughout  the  whole  courtyard.  It  was  made  of 
the  remnants  of  boiled  beef,  bought  at  a  cook-shop, 
not  to  say  a  chandler's,  and  fricasseed  in  butter  with 
onions  cut  in  fine  strips  until  the  butter  was  wholly 
absorbed  by  the  meat  and  the  onions,  so  that  this 
delicacy  of  the  concierge  presented  the  appearance 
of  something  fried.  This  dish,  lovingly  concocted 
for  Cibot  and  Schmucke,  between  whom  Madame 
Cibot  divided  it  equally,  accompanied  by  a  bottle  of 
beer  and  a  bit  of  cheese,  sufficed  the  old  German 
music-master  for  his  dinner.  And  you  may  well 
believe  that  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  did  not  dine 
better  than  did  Schmucke.  Sometimes  this  dish  of 
boiled  meat  fricasseed  with  onions,  sometimes  the 
remnants  of  chicken  saute,  sometimes  cold  beef 
with  parsley  and  a  fish  cooked  with  a  sauce  invented 
by  Madame  Cibot,  in  which  a  mother  might  have 
eaten  her  own  child  without  perceiving  it,  sometimes 
a  dish  of  venison,  according  to  the  quality  or  quan- 
tity sold  second-hand  from  the  restaurants  of  the 
boulevard  to  the  cook-shops  of  the  Rue  Boucherat; 
such  was  Schmucke's  bill  of  fare,  who  was  well 


80  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

contented  to  accept,  without  any  remarks,  all  that 
was  served  to  him  by  his  goof  Montame  Zipod. 
And  from  day  to  day  the  good  Madame  Cibot  had 
lessened  the  fare  until  she  managed  to  supply  it  at 
a  cost  to  herself  of  twenty  sous. 

"I  am  going  up  to  see  if  nothing  hasn't  happened 
to  him,  that  poor,  dear  man,"  said  Madame  Cibot  to 
her  spouse;  "here's  Mr.  Schmucke's  dinner  done  to 
a  turn." 

Madame  Cibot  covered  the  earthenware  dish  with 
a  common  china  plate,  and  then,  in  spite  of  her  age, 
she  arrived  at  the  apartment  of  the  two  friends  just 
at  the  moment  when  Schmucke  opened  the  door  to 
Rons. 

"Vat  ees  de  madder,  my  goot  frent?"  asked  the 
German,  frightened  by  the  collapse  visible  in  Rons' 
face. 

"  I  will  tell  you  all;  but  I  have  come  to  dine  with 
you — " 

"  To  tine  !  to  tine  !  "  cried  Schmucke,  en- 
chanted, delighted.  "Pud  dad  ees  imbossible!" 
he  added,  remembering  the  gastronomic  habits  of 
his  friend. 

At  this  moment  the  old  German  perceived  Madame 
Cibot,  who  was  listening,  according  to  her  legitimate 
rights  as  housekeeper.  Seized  by  one  of  those  in- 
spirations which  only  blossom  in  the  heart  of  a  true 
friend,  he  went  straight  to  her  and  drew  her  out 
upon  the  landing. 

"  Montame  Zipod,  der  goot  Bons  lofes  goot  dings 
to  eat;  go  to  der  Catran  Pleu  und  order  a  nice  leetle 


COUSIN  PONS  8 1 

fine  tinner;  anchofies,  magaroni,  in  vact  a  rebast  of 
Lugullus." 

"A  repast  of  what?"  demanded  Madame  Cibot. 

"  Vy,"  replied  Schmucke,  "  it  ees  a  frigandeau  of 
feal,  a  goot  feesh,  a  pottle  of  fine  Porteaux,  and 
someding  of  everyding  dat  ees  der  best — like  rice 
groqueetes,  some  smoked  bagon!  Bay  for  it!  Don't 
zay  a  vort!  I  vill  geef  you  der  money  for  it  do- 
morrow  morning." 

Schmucke  re-entered  with  a  joyous  air,  rubbing 
his  hands;  but  his  face  resumed  gradually  an  ex- 
pression of  stupefaction  as  he  listened  to  the  recital 
of  the  misfortunes  that  had  suddenly  overwhelmed 
the  heart  of  his  friend.  He  endeavored  to  console 
Pons  by  depicting  to  him  the  world  from  his  own 
point  of  view.  Paris  was  a  perpetual  tornado,  men 
and  women  were  whirled  about  in  it  in  the  mazes  of 
a  furious  waltz,  and  it  was  never  worth  while  to 
expect  anything  from  the  world,  which  only  looks 
at  the  surface  and  nefer  ad  de  inderior,  he  said. 
He  related  for  the  hundredth  time  how,  from  year 
to  year,  the  only  three  pupils  whom  he  loved,  by 
whom  he  was  cherished,  for  whom  he  would  have 
given  his  life,  and  from  whom  he  even  received  a 
little  pension  of  nine  hundred  francs,  to  which 
each  contributed  equally,  had  so  completely  for- 
gotten, year  after  year,  to  come  and  see  him, 
were  so  violently  carried  away  by  the  current  of 
Parisian  life,  that  he  had  not  been  received  by  them 
when  he  called,  for  more  than  three  years. — It  is 
true  that  Schmucke  presented  himself  at  the  houses 
6 


82  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

of  these  great  ladies  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning. — 
And,  finally,  the  quarterly  installments  of  his  pen- 
sion were  paid  him  by  a  notary. 

"And  yet,"  he  added,  "dey  are  hearts  of  gold. 
Dey  are  my  leetle  Zaint  Zezilias,  sharming  laties — 
Montame  de  Bordentuere,  Montame  de  Fantenesse, 
Montame  ti  Dilet.  Yen  1  zee  dem,  it  ees  in  der 
Jambs-£lusees,  vidout  dair  seeing  me — ant  dey  lofe 
me  mooch,  ant  I  can  go  ant  tine  mit  dem,  ant  dey 
vill  pe  veil  pleaset;  put  I  much  prefair  to  pe  mit  my 
frent  Bons,  pegause  I  gan  zee  heem  venefer  I  vant 
to,  efery  tay." 

Pons  took  the  hand  of  Schmucke  between  his 
own,  and  grasped  it  with  a  movement  in  which  his 
whole  soul  was  communicated,  and  they  both  re- 
mained thus  for  some  minutes,  like  two  lovers  who 
meet  again  after  long  absence. 

"  Tine  mit  me  here,  efery  tay !"  resumed  Schmucke, 
who  was  inwardly  blessing  the  cruelty  of  the  presi- 
dent's wife.  "Zee,  ve  vill  prig-a-prag  togedder; 
and  der  tefil  shall  nefare  get  hees  dail  insite  our 
toors." 

To  explain  these  truly  heroic  words,  "Ve  vill 
prig-a-prag  togedder,"  it  must  be  admitted  that 
Schmucke  was  in  a  state  of  crass  ignorance  as  to 
bric-a-bracology.  It  required  nothing  less  than  the 
whole  strength  of  his  friendship  to  keep  him  from 
breaking  things  in  the  salon,  and  in  the  apartment 
given  up  to  Pons  for  a  museum.  Schmucke,  wholly 
devoted  to  music,  a  composer  for  his  own  happiness, 
looked  upon  all  the  little  follies  of  his  friend  as  a  fish 


COUSIN   PONS  83 

which  had  received  a  ticket  of  invitation  would  regard 
a  flower  show  at  the  Luxembourg.  He  respected 
these  marvelous  works  of  art  solely  because  of  the 
respect  which  Pons  manifested  in  dusting  his  treas- 
ures. He  replied,  "Yes,  dat  is  ferry  breddy,"  to 
the  admiration  of  his  friend,  as  a  mother  replies  with 
unmeaning  phrases  to  the  gestures  of  a  child  that 
cannot  yet  talk.  Since  the  two  friends  had  lived 
together,  Schmucke  had  seen  Pons  change  his  clock 
seven  times,  always  in  bartering  an  inferior  one  for 
a  better  one.  Pons  was  now  the  owner  of  a  most 
magnificent  clock  by  Boulle,  a  clock  in  ebony,  inlaid 
with  brass,  and  adorned  with  carvings  in  the  first 
manner  of  Boulle.  Boulle  had  two  styles,  just 
as  Raphael  had  three.  In  the  first  he  wedded  brass 
to  ebony,  and  in  the  second,  against  his  convictions, 
he  sacrificed  to  tortoise-shell.  He  produced  prodigies 
solely  to  vanquish  his  competitors,  inventors  of  the 
tortoise-shell  inlay.  Notwithstanding  the  learned 
demonstration  of  Pons,  Schmucke  was  not  able  to 
see  the  slightest  difference  between  the  magnificent 
clock  in  the  first  manner  of  Boulle  and  the  six 
others.  But  because  they  made  his  friend  happy, 
Schmucke  took  even  more  care  of  these  "knick- 
knacks  "  than  his  friend  himself.  It  is  not  surprising, 
then,  that  the  sublime  phrase  of  Schmucke  had  the 
power  to  calm  the  distress  of  Pons,  for  the  "ve  vill 
prig-a-prag  togedder  "  of  the  German  meant:  "  I  will 
put  money  in  the  bric-a-brac  if  you  will  dine  here." 
"  Dinner  is  ready,  gentlemen,"  said  Madame 
Cibot,  with  an  astonishing  composure. 


84  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

The  surprise  of  Rons  at  seeing  and  tasting  the 
dinner  due  to  the  friendship  of  Schmucke  may  be 
readily  understood.  These  sensations,  so  rare  in 
life,  do  not  come  from  the  steady  devotion  which 
makes  two  men  say  to  each  other  perpetually,  "You 
have  in  me  another  self,"— for  to  that  they  grow 
accustomed;  no,  they  are  caused  by  the  comparison 
of  such  proofs  of  the  happiness  of  domestic  intimacy 
with  the  brutal  selfishness  of  worldly  life.  It  is  such 
experience  of  the  world  which  ceaselessly  links  anew 
two  friends  or  two  lovers  when  two  true  souls  are 
wedded,  either  by  love  or  by  friendship.  Thus 
Pons  wiped  away  two  big  tears,  and  Schmucke  for 
his  part  was  obliged  to  dry  his  moist  eyes.  They 
said  nothing  to  each  other,  but  they  loved  each 
other  all  the  more,  and  they  made  to  each  other 
little  motions  of  the  head,  whose  balmy  expressions 
soothed  the  anguish  of  the  gravel  introduced  by  the 
president's  wife  into  the  heart  of  Pons.  Schmucke 
rubbed  his  hands  till  the  skin  was  in  danger,  for  he 
had  suddenly  conceived  one  of  those  inventions 
which  only  astonish  a  German  when  they  are  sud- 
denly developed  in  his  brain,  congealed  as  it  usually 
is  by  the  respect  due  sovereign  princes. 

"  My  goot  Bons,"  he  said. 

"I  guess  what  you  want.  You  wish  that  we 
should  dine  together  every  day — " 

"  I  vish  dat  I  vas  reech  enuf  to  tine  like  dat  efery 
tay,"  replied  sadly  the  good  German. 

Madame  Cibot,  to  whom  Pons  gave  occasionally 
tickets  for  the  theatre  of  the  boulevard,  which 


PONS,  SCHMUCKE  AND  THE  CIBOT 


In  hearing  tJiis  promise,  Schmucke  jumped  from 
one  end  of  the  table  to  the  other,  dragging  with  him 
the  cloth,  tlie  plates,  the  water-bottles,  and  seized 
Pons  in  an  embrace  comparable  to  that  of  one  gas 
rushing  to  mix  itself  with  another  gas  for  which  it 
has  an  affinity. 


COUSIN  PONS  85 

elevated  him  to  the  same  level  in  her  heart  as  that 
of  her  boarder  Schmucke,  here  made  a  proposition, 
which  was  as  follows: 

"My  goodness,"  said  she,  "for  three  francs, 
without  wine,  I  can  give  you  every  day,  you  two, 
such  a  dinner  that  you  will  lick  the  plates 
and  make  them  as  clean  as  if  they  had  been 
washed." 

"  De  fagt  ees,"  replied  Schmucke,  "dat  I  tine 
pedder  mit  dat  vich  Montame  Zipod  gooks  for  me, 
dan  to  de  gentry  who  eat  de  king's  dishes." — 

In  the  fervor  of  his  new  hope,  the  respectful 
German  went  so  far  as  to  imitate  the  irreverence  of 
the  minor  newspapers  in  calumniating  the  fare,  at 
so  much  a  head,  at  the  royal  table. 

"  Truly?"  said  Pons.  "Well,  then,  1  will  try  it 
to-morrow!" 

In  hearing  this  promise,  Schmucke  jumped  from 
one  end  of  the  table  to  the  other,  dragging  with  him 
the  cloth,  the  plates,  the  water-bottles,  and  seized 
Pons  in  an  embrace  comparable  to  that  of  one  gas 
rushing  to  mix  itself  with  another  gas  for  which  it 
has  an  affinity. 

"  Vat  habbiness!"  he  cried. 

"  Monsieur  will  dine  here  every  day!"  said  Mad- 
ame Cibot,  proudly  and  tenderly. 

Unaware  of  the  circumstances  to  which  she  owed 
the  accomplishment  of  her  dream,  the  excellent 
woman  descended  to  her  lodge,  and  entered  it  as 
Josepha  comes  upon  the  scene  in  "William  Tell." 
She  threw  down  the  plates  and  dishes,  and  cried: 


86  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Cibot,  run  and  get  two  demi-tasses  at  the  Cafe 
Turc,  and  tell  the  waiter  in  the  kitchen  they  are 
for  me." 

Then  she  sat  down,  putting  her  hands  upon  her 
sturdy  knees,  and  looking  through  the  window  at 
the  opposite  wall,  said: 

"  I  will  go  this  evening  and  consult  Mame  Fon- 
taine!" 

Madame  Fontaine  was  the  fortune-teller  of  all  the 
cooks,  waiting-maids,  lackeys,  porters,  etc.,  in  the 
Marais. 

"Since  those  two  gentlemen  came  to  live  with 
us,  we  have  put  two  thousand  francs  in  the  savings 
bank.  In  eight  years,  what  luck!  I  wonder  if  it 
would  not  be  better  to  earn  nothing  out  of  the  dinner 
of  Monsieur  Rons,  and  make  him  stick  to  the  house? 
Mame  Fontaine's  hen  will  tell  me  that." 

In  seeing  no  signs  of  heirs,  neither  for  Rons  nor 
for  Schmucke,  for  the  last  three  years  Madame  Cibot 
had  been  flattering  herself  with  the  hope  of  obtain- 
ing a  mention  in  the  wills  of  "  her  gentlemen,"  and 
her  zeal,  which  up  to  that  time  had  been  full  of  in- 
tegrity, redoubled  under  the  influence  of  this  cupid- 
ity, developed  in  the  middle  of  her  mustachios,  thus 
late  in  life.  By  dining  out  every  day,  Pons  had 
escaped  the  complete  servitude  in  which  the  con- 
cierge wished  to  hold  her  gentlemen.  The  nomadic 
life  of  this  old  troubadour-collector  had  hitherto 
scared  the  vague  ideas  of  seduction  which  danced  in 
the  brain  of  Madame  Cibot,  and  which  developed  into 
a  formidable  plan  from  the  day  of  this  memorable 


COUSIN  PONS  87 

dinner.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  she  reap- 
peared in  the  dining-room,  armed  with  two  cups  of 
excellent  coffee,  flanked  by  two  petits  •verres  of 
Kirschwasser. 

"Long  lif  Montame  Zipod!"  cried  Schmucke. 
"  She  has  guesset  choost  vat  ve  vanted." 

After  a  few  lamentations  from  the  disappointed 
diner-out,  which  Schmucke  combated  with  such 
wheedlings  as  the  sitting  pigeon  would  lavish  on 
the  traveler  pigeon,  the  two  friends  went  out  to- 
gether. Schmucke  was  unwilling  to  leave  his  friend 
to  himself  in  the  situation  into  which  he  had  been 
thrown  by  the  conduct  of  the  masters  and  servants 
in  the  house  of  Camusot.  He  knew  Rons,  and  he 
was  sure  that  horribly  sad  reflections  were  likely  to 
seize  him  at  the  orchestra  on  his  magisterial  seat, 
and  to  destroy  the  good  effect  of  his  home-coming 
to  the  nest.  In  bringing  Pons  back  to  the  lodging 
that  evening  toward  midnight,  Schmucke  held  him 
by  the  arm,  and,  like  a  lover  escorting  an  adored 
mistress,  he  pointed  out  to  him  the  spots  where  the 
pavement  ended  or  where  it  commenced;  he  warned 
him  of  all  the  gutters;  he  would  have  had  the  pave- 
ments in  cotton,  the  sky  blue,  and  the  angels  war- 
bling in  Pons'  ear  the  music  which  they  sang  in  his 
own.  He  had  conquered  the  last  province  which 
was  not  already  his  own  in  his  friend's  heart! 


For  nearly  three  months,  Rons  dined  every  day 
with  Schmucke.  In  the  first  place  he  was  obliged 
to  retrench  eighty  francs  a  month  from  his  pur- 
chases, for  he  required  about  thirty-five  francs' 
worth  of  wine,  with  the  forty-five  francs  that  the 
dinner  cost  him.  Then,  notwithstanding  all  the  care 
and  the  Teutonic  jests  of  Schmucke,  the  old  artist 
regretted  the  exquisite  dishes,  the  little  glasses  of 
liqueur,  the  good  coffee,  the  chat,  the  empty  civili- 
ties, the  guests,  and  the  gossip  of  the  houses  in 
which  he  had  formerly  dined.  Habits  which  have 
endured  for  thirty-six  years  are  not  easily  broken 
in  the  decline  of  life.  Wine  at  a  hundred  and 
thirty  francs  per  cask  furnishes  a  poor  liquid  in  the 
glass  of  an  epicure;  and,  thus,  each  time  that  Pons 
carried  his  glass  to  his  lips  he  recalled  with  a  thous- 
and poignant  regrets,  the  exquisite  wines  of  his 
amphitryons.  So  that  at  the  end  of  three  months 
the  sharp  sufferings  which  had  almost  broken  his 
sensitive  heart,  were  weakened,  and  he  remembered 
only  the  pleasures  of  society;  just  as  an  old  ladies' 
man  regrets  a  mistress  whom  he  has  abandoned  for 
her  many  infidelities!  Although  he  endeavored  to 
hide  the  profound  melancholy  which  consumed  him, 
the  old  musician  could  be  seen  to  be  evidently  a  prey 
to  one  of  those  inexplicable  diseases  whose  seat  is 
(89) 


90  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

in  the  moral  being.  To  explain  this  nostalgia  pro- 
duced by  a  broken  habit,  it  will  suffice  to  indicate 
one  of  those  thousand  little  nothings  which,  like  the 
rings  of  a  coat  of  mail,  cover  the  soul  with  a  net- 
work of  iron.  One  of  the  keenest  pleasures  in  the 
former  life  of  Rons,  one  of  the  "happinesses  of  the 
former  diner-out,  had  been  the  surprise,  the  gastro- 
nomic impression  produced  by  some  extraordinary 
dish,  some  delicacy  added  triumphantly  by  the  mis- 
tress of  the  bourgeois  house  who  wished  to  give  a 
festal  air  to  her  dinner!  This  delight  of  the  stomach 
was  now  lacking  to  Pons,  for  Madame  Cibot  always 
took  pains  to  inform  him  of  the  bill  of  fare  through 
pride.  The  periodic  piquancy  of  the  daily  life  of 
Pons  had  totally  disappeared.  His  dinner  passed  off 
without  the  unexpectedness  of  that  which  formerly 
in  the  house  of  our  ancestors  was  known  as  "the 
covered  dish."  This  is  what  Schmucke  was,  nat- 
urally, unable  to  comprehend.  Pons  was  too  delicate 
to  complain,  and  if  there  is  something  even  more 
distressing  than  misunderstood  genius,  it  is  a  stomach 
uncomprehended.  The  heart  whose  love  is  repulsed, 
this  drama  of  which  we  hear  so  much,  rests  on  a 
false  want;  for  if  the  creature  deserts  us,  we  can  at 
least  love  the  Creator.  He  has  treasures  to  bestow 
upon  us.  But  the  stomach! — nothing  can  be  com- 
pared to  its  sufferings;  for,  after  all,  it  is  the  life! 
Pons  regretted  certain  custards,  veritable  poems! 
certain  white  sauces,  masterpieces!  certain  truffled 
chickens,  loves!  and  above  all,  those  famous  carp 
from  the  Rhine,  which  can  only  be  found  in  Paris, 


COUSIN  PONS  91 

and  with  what  condiments!  On  certain  days  he 
would  cry  out,  "Oh,  Sophia!"  in  thinking  of  the 
cook  of  Comte  Popinot.  The  passer-by  overhearing 
this  sigh,  would  have  thought  that  the  good  man 
was  thinking  of  a  mistress,  but  it  was  an  affair  of 
something  much  more  rare,  of  a  fat  carp!  accom- 
panied by  a  sauce,  clear  in  the  dish,  thick  on  the 
tongue,  a  sauce  worthy  of  the  Prix  Montyon!  The 
very  remembrance  of  these  dinners,  eaten  thus, 
made  considerably  thinner  this  chief  of  orchestra, 
attacked  by  a  gastric  nostalgia. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  fourth  month,  toward  the 
end  of  January,  1845,  the  young  flute-player — who 
was  named  Wilhelm,  like  almost  all  Germans,  and 
Schwab,  to  distinguish  him  from  all  the  Wilhelms — 
which  did  not,  however,  distinguish  him  from  all 
the  other  Schwabs — thought  necessary  to  enlighten 
Schmucke  on  the  condition  of  the  leader  of  the  or- 
chestra, with  which  the  whole  theatre  was  concerned. 
It  was  the  day  of  a  first  representation,  and  there 
were  some  instruments  for  the  old  German  master 
to  play. 

"  The  good  old  man  is  going  down  hill,  there  is 
something  in  his  bellows  which  sounds  wrong.  His 
eye  is  sad,  the  movement  of  his  arm  is  growing 
weaker,"  said  Wilhelm  Schwab,  pointing  to  Pons, 
who  was  mounting  his  pulpit  with  a  funereal  air. 

"  It  is  like  dat  always  at  seexty  years,"  answered 
Schmucke. 

Schmucke,  like  that  mother  in  the  Chronicles  of 
the  Canongate,  who,  to  keep  her  son  with  her 


92  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

twenty-four  hours  longer,  caused  him  to  be  shot, 
was  capable  of  sacrificing  Pons  for  the  pleasure  of 
dining  with  him  every  day. 

"  Everybody  at  the  theatre  is  worrying  about 
him,  and,  as  Mademoiselle  Helolse  Brisetout,  our  pre- 
mttre  danseuse,  says,  '  he  scarcely  makes  any  noise 
in  blowing  his  nose.'  " 

The  old  musician  seemed  to  be  sounding  the  horn, 
usually,  when  he  blew  his  nose,  so  much  did  that 
long  and  hollow  organ  resound  in  his  handkerchief. 
This  uproar  had  been  the  cause  of  one  of  the  most 
frequent  complaints  of  the  president's  wife  to  her 
cousin  Pons. 

"  I  would  gif  a  great  teal  to  amuse  heem,"  said 
Schmucke.  "  He  is  getting  melengolly." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Wilhelm  Schwab.  "  M.  Pons 
seems  to  me  such  a  superior  being  to  us  poor  devils 
that  I  would  not  dare  to  invite  him  to  my  wedding. 
I  am  going  to  be  married — " 

"How?"  demanded  Schmucke. 

"Oh!  honestly,"  answered  Wilhelm,  who  found 
in  the  queer  question  of  Schmucke  a  jest  of  which 
that  perfect  Christian  was  quite  incapable. 

"  Come,  gentlemen,  take  your  places,"  said  Pons, 
looking  around  at  his  little  army  in  the  orchestra,  as 
he  heard  the  director's  bell.  They  played  the  over- 
ture of  La  Fiancee  du  Diable,  a  fairy  piece  which 
ran  through  two  hundred  representations.  After  the 
first  act,  Wilhelm  and  Schmucke  were  left  alone  in 
the  deserted  orchestra.  The  atmosphere  of  the 
theatre  was  at  about  thirty-two  degrees  Reaumur. 


COUSIN  PONS  93 

"Dell  me,  den,  your  story,"  said  Schmucke  to 
Wilhelm. 

"There,  don't  you  see  in  the  proscenium  box, 
that  young  man? — do  you  recognize  him?" 

"Nod  ad  all." 

"Ah!  that's  because  he  has  yellow  gloves,  and 
because  he  shines  with  all  the  glory  of  wealth;  but 
he  is  my  friend,  Fritz  Brunner,  of  Frankfort-on-the- 
Main." 

"  He  dat  uset  to  come  and  sit  in  the  orguesdra 
besite  you?" 

"  The  very  same.  It  is  hard  to  believe  in  such  a 
metamorphosis  as  that,  is  it  not?" 

The  hero  of  this  promised  tale  was  one  of  those 
Germans  whose  faces  contain  at  the  same  time  the 
sombre  mockery  of  the  Mephistopheles  of  Goethe, 
and  the  good-natured  cheerfulness  of  the  novels  of 
August  Lafontaine,  of  peaceful  memory;  cunning 
and  simplicity,  the  hard  eagerness  of  the  shop  and 
the  deliberate,  indolent  indifference  of  a  member  of 
the  Jockey  Club;  above  all,  that  disgust  which  put 
the  pistol  into  the  hand  of  Werther,  who  was  much 
more  weary  of  the  German  princes  than  he  was  of 
Charlotte.  It  was  truly  a  typical  German  face; 
much  of  the  Jew  and  much  simplicity,  stupidity  and 
courage,  a  knowledge  which  produces  ennui,  an  ex- 
perience which  the  slightest  childishness  might  ren- 
der useless;  the  abuse  of  beer  and  tobacco;  but  to 
heighten  the  effect  of  all  these  antitheses,  a  diaboli- 
cal sparkle  shone  in  the  handsome,  tired  blue  eyes. 
Dressed  with  all  the  elegance  of  a  banker,  Fritz 


94  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Brunner  offered  to  the  gaze  of  the  audience  a  bald 
head,  in  the  coloring  of  Titian,  on  each  side  of  which 
curled  a  few  locks  of  bright  blond  hair,  which  de- 
bauchery and  want  had  spared  him,  that  he  might 
have  cause  to  pay  a  hair-dresser  in  the  days  of  his 
financial  restoration.  His  face,  formerly  fresh  and 
handsome,  like  that  of  the  Jesus  Christ  of  the 
painters,  had  acquired  certain  sharp  tones,  which 
the  red  moustache  and  the  tawny  beard  rendered 
almost  sinister.  The  pure  blue  of  his  eyes  had 
become  cloudy  in  his  struggles  with  mortification. 
Finally,  the  thousand  prostitutions  of  Paris  had 
blurred  the  eyelids  and  the  contour  of  the  eyes,  in 
which  formerly  a  mother  might  have  seen  with  de- 
light a  divine  reflection  of  her  own.  This  premature 
philosopher,  this  youthful  old  man,  was  the  product 
of  a  step-mother. 

Here  begins  a  singular  history  of  a  prodigal  son  of 
Frankfort-on-the-Main,  the  most  extraordinary  and 
bizarre  affair  that  ever  happened  in  that  sage,  though 
central,  city. 

M.  Gedeon  Brunner,  the  father  of  this  Fritz,  one 
of  the  celebrated  inn-keepers  of  Frankfort-on-the- 
Main,  who  practiced,  in  collusion  with  the  bankers, 
the  depravities,  authorized  by  law,  upon  the  pockets 
of  the  tourists, — an  honest  Calvinist,  moreover, — had 
espoused  a  converted  Jewess,  to  whose  dot  he  owed 
the  foundation  of  his  fortune.  This  Jewess  died, 
leaving  a  son  Fritz,  then  twelve  years  of  age,  to  the 
guardianship  of  his  father  and  under  the  supervision 
of  a  maternal  uncle,  a  furrier  at  Leipsic,  the  head 


COUSIN  PONS  95 

of  the  house  of  Virlaz  &  Co.  Brunner,  the  father, 
was  obliged  by  this  uncle,  who  was  not  altogether 
as  soft  as  his  furs,  to  place  the  fortune  of  young 
Fritz  in  a  great  many  marcs  banco  in  the  banking 
house  of  Al-Sartchild,  and  not  to  touch  it.  In  re- 
venge for  this  Israelitish  exaction,  the  pere  Brunner 
married  again,  alleging  the  impossibility  of  keeping 
his  immense  inn  without  the  eye  and  the  arm  of  a 
wife.  He  married  the  daughter  of  another  inn- 
keeper in  whom  he  saw  a  pearl;  but  he  had  had  no 
experience  of  what  an  only  daughter,  indulged  by 
father  and  mother,  could  be.  The  second  Madame 
Brunner  was  a  specimen  of  what  the  young  German 
women  may  be  when  they  are  spiteful  and  frivo- 
lous. She  wasted  his  fortune,  and  avenged  the  first 
Madame  Brunner  by  making  her  husband  the  most 
unhappy  man  in  his  own  house  in  the  whole  terri- 
tory of  the  free  city  of  Frankfort-on-the-Main,  where 
they  say  the  millionaires  are  now  going  to  procure  a 
municipal  law  to  compel  wives  to  cherish  their  hus- 
bands exclusively.  This  German  dame  loved  all 
the  different  vinegars  which  the  Germans  call  indis- 
criminately Rhine  wine;  she  loved  the  articles-Paris; 
she  loved  to  ride  horse-back;  she  loved  dress;  in  fact 
the  only  costly  thing  that  she  did  not  love,  was 
woman.  She  took  an  aversion  to  the  little  Fritz, 
and  would  have  driven  him  crazy  if  that  youthful 
product  of  Calvinism  and  of  the  Mosaic  dispensation 
had  not  had  Frankfort  for  his  cradle  and  the  house 
of  Virlaz  at  Leipsic  for  his  guardian;  but  his  uncle 
Virlaz,  wrapped  up  in  his  furs,  watched  over  only 


96  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  marcs  banco,  and  left  the  infant  a  prey  to  his 
step-mother. 

This  hyena  of  a  woman  was  all  the  more  furious 
against  this  cherub,  son  of  the  beautiful  Madame 
Brunner,  because  in  spite  of  efforts  worthy  of  a 
locomotive,  she  could  not  have  any  children  herself. 
Prompted  by  a  diabolical  idea,  this  evil-minded  Ger- 
man woman  launched  the  young  Fritz,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-one  years,  into  anti-Germanic  dissipations. 
She  entertained  the  hope  that  English  horses,  the 
vinegar  of  the  Rhine,  and  the  Marguerites  of  Goethe 
would  devour  the  child  of  the  Jewess  and  his  fortune; 
for  Uncle  Virlaz  had  left  a  fine  inheritance  to  his  little 
Fritz  when  the  latter  attained  his  majority.  But, 
although  the  gaming  tables  of  the  watering-places 
and  his  wine-drinking  friends,  among  whom  was 
Wilhelm  Schwab,  disposed  of  the  capital  of  Virlaz, 
the  prodigal  son  himself  was  kept  alive  in  order  to 
serve,  according  to  the  will  of  God,  as  a  warning  to 
the  youngsters  of  the  city  of  Frankfort-on-the-Main, 
where  all  the  parents  held  him  up  as  a  scare-crow 
to  keep  their  own  sons  well  conducted  and  submis- 
sive behind  their  own  iron  counters  well  lined  with 
silver  marks.  Instead  of  dying  in  the  flower  of  his 
age,  Fritz  Brunner  had  the  pleasure  of  burying  his 
step-mother  in  one  of  those  charming  cemeteries  in 
which  the  Germans,  under  pretence  of  honoring 
their  dead,  deliver  themselves  up  to  their  frantic 
passion  for  horticulture.  The  second  Madame  Brun- 
ner died,  then,  before  the  authors  of  her  being,  the 
old  Brunner  was  quits  for  the  money  which  she  had 


COUSIN  PONS  97 

extracted  from  his  coffers  and  for  his  sufferings,  so 
that  this  inn-keeper,  of  a  Herculean  constitution, 
beheld  himself,  at  the  age  of  sixty-seven,  diminished 
and  shrunken  as  though  he  had  partaken  of  the 
famous  poison  of  the  Borgias.  Not  to  inherit  the  for- 
tune of  his  wife  after  having  supported  her  for  ten 
years,  made  of  this  inn-keeper  another  ruin  of  Hei- 
delberg, repaired  constantly  by  the  Rechnungen, 
"bills,"  of  the  travelers,  just  as  that  of  Heidelberg  is 
constantly  repaired,  in  order  to  retain  the  enthusiasm 
of  tourists  who  crowd  to  see  this  beautiful  ruin  so 
wonderfully  preserved.  All  Frankfort  talked  about 
Brunner  as  if  he  were  a  bankrupt;  they  pointed  at 
him  with  their  fingers,  and  said: 

"Just  see  to  what  condition  we  may  be  brought 
by  a  bad  wife  whose  property  we  cannot  inherit, 
and  by  a  son  brought  up  like  a  Frenchman." 

In  Italy  and  in  Germany,  the  French  are  the 
cause  of  every  misfortune,  the  target  for  all  bullets; 
"but  the  God  pursuing  his  career — "  for  the  rest 
see  the  ode  of  Lefranc  de  Pompignan. 

The  wrath  of  the  proprietor  of  the  Grand  Hotel 
de  Hollande  did  not  tumble  exclusively  upon  the 
travelers  whose  bills  (rechnungen)  felt  the  weight  of 
his  anger.  When  his  son  was  totally  ruined,  Gedeon, 
regarding  him  as  the  indirect  cause  of  all  his  misfor- 
tunes, refused  him  bread  and  water,  salt,  fire,  lodg- 
ment, and  a  pipe! — which  in  a  German  inn-keeping 
parent  is  the  last  degree  of  paternal  malediction. 
The  authorities  of  the  place,  not  taking  into  account 
the  original  wrong-doing  of  the  father,  and  seeing 
7 


98  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

in  him  only  one  of  the  most  unfortunate  men  in 
Frankfort-on-the-Main,  came  to  his  aid;  they  ex- 
pelled Fritz  from  the  territory  of  their  free  city, 
making  German  war  upon  him.  Justice  is  neither 
more  humane  nor  more  intelligent  at  Frankfort  than 
elsewhere,  albeit  that  city  is  the  seat  of  the  German 
Diet.  It  is  but  seldom  that  a  magistrate  reascends 
the  stream  of  crimes  and  misfortunes  to  ascertain 
who  holds  the  urn  from  which  escapes  the  first 
thread  of  water.  If  Brunner  forgot  his  son,  the 
friends  of  the  son  imitated  the  father. 

Ah!  if  this  history  could  have  been  played  before 
the  footlights  for  this  audience,  in  the  midst  of  whom 
journalists,  lions,  and  some  Parisiennes  were  inquir- 
ing from  whence  came  the  profoundly  tragic  face  of 
this  German,  suddenly  risen  to  the  surface  of  the 
gay  world  of  Paris,  on  the  occasion  of  a  first  repre- 
sentation, alone,  in  a  proscenium  box,  it  would  have 
been  a  much  finer  spectacle  than  the  fairy  play  of 
La  Fiancee  du  Diable,  though  that  were  the  two 
hundred  thousandth  representation  of  the. sublime 
parable  played  in  Mesopotamia,  three  thousand  years 
before  Christ. 


Fritz  traveled  on  foot  to  Strasbourg,  and  there  he 
met  with  something  which  the  prodigal  son  of  the 
Bible  did  not  find  in  the  country  of  Holy  Writ. 
Herein  is  revealed  the  superiority  of  Alsace,  where 
beat  so  many  generous  hearts  that  are  born  to  dem- 
onstrate to  Germans  the  beauty  of  a  combination 
of  French  wit  and  German  solidity.  Wilhelm, 
who  had  lately  come  into  the  inheritance  of  his 
father  and  his  mother,  was  possessed  of  one  hundred 
thousand  francs.  He  opened  his  arms  to  Fritz,  he 
opened  his  heart,  he  opened  his  house,  he  opened 
his  purse.  To  describe  the  moment  when  Fritz, 
dusty,  unhappy,  and  quasi-leprous,  encountered  on 
the  other  bank  of  the  Rhine,  a  real  piece  of  twenty 
francs  in  the  hand  of  a  veritable  friend, — that  would 
be  to  launch  into  an  ode;  a  Pindar  alone  could  pour 
it  forth  in  Greek  to  humanity,  to  revive  expiring 
friendship.  Put  the  names  of  Fritz  and  Wilhelm 
with  those  of  Damon  and  Pythias,  of  Castor  and 
Pollux,  of  Orestes  and  Pylades,  of  Dubreuil  and 
Pmejah,  of  Schmucke  and  Pons,  and  with  all  the 
fancy  names  which  we  give  to  the  two  friends  of 
Monomotapa, — for  Lafontaine,  man  of  genius  that  he 
was,  has  made  semblances  of  them,  without  body, 
without  reality, — add  these  two  new  names  to  these 
illustrations,  with  all  the  more  reason  that  Wilhelm 
ate  up  his  patrimony  in  company  with  Fritz,  just  as 

(99) 


100  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Fritz  had  formerly  drunk  up  his  with  Wilhelm;  and 
smoking  at  the  same  time,  be  it  well  understood, 
every  known  species  of  tobacco. 

The  two  friends,  strange  to  say,  swallowed  this  in- 
heritance in  the  beer-shops  of  Strasbourg,  in  a  man- 
ner the  most  stupid  and  the  most  vulgar,  with  the 
ballet  girls  of  the  Strasbourg  theatre,  and  with  Alsa- 
tians, who  "of  their  little  brooms  had  nothing  left  but 
the  handles."  Every  morning  they  said  to  each  other: 

"We  must  really  pull  up  and  take  a  stand,  and 
do  something  with  the  little  that  remains  to  us!" 

"  Bah!  one  day  more,"  Fritz  would  exclaim;  but 
to-morrow — oh!  to-morrow! 

In  the  life  of  the  spendthrift,  To-day  is  a  great 
big  coxcomb,  but  To-morrow  is  a  great  coward,  who 
takes  fright  at  the  courage  of  his  predecessor;  To- 
day is  the  Captain  of  the  ancient  comedy,  and  To- 
morrow is  the  Pierrot  of  our  pantomimes.  When 
they  came  to  their  last  thousand-franc  note,  the  two 
friends  took  their  places  in  that  traveling  convey- 
ance, the  Messageries,  called  royal,  which  conducted 
them  to  Paris,  where  they  lodged  under  the  roof  of 
the  Hotel  du  Rhin,  Rue  de  Mail,  kept  by  one  Graff, 
formerly  headwaiter  with  Gedeon  Brunner.  Fritz 
secured  a  situation  as  clerk,  at  a  salary  of  six  hun- 
dred francs,  with  the  Keller  Brothers,  bankers,  to 
whom  Graff  recommended  him.  Graff,  the  propri- 
etor of  the  Hotel  du  Rhin,  is  the  brother  of  the 
famous  tailor  Graff.  The  tailor  took  Wilhelm  as 
book-keeper.  Graff  found  these  two  places  for 
the  two  prodigal  sons  in  remembrance  of  his 


COUSIN  PONS  101 

apprenticeship  at  the  Hotel  de  Hollande.  These 
two  facts — a  friend  ruined,  recognized  by  a  rich 
friend,  and  a  German  inn-keeper  interesting  himself 
for  two  penniless  compatriots — might  lead  some 
people  to  believe  that  the  present  history  is  a  novel, 
but  truth  so  much  resembles  fiction,  that  the  fable 
takes  in  our  day  unheard-of  pains  to  resemble  truth. 
Fritz,  a  clerk  at  six  hundred  francs,  and  Wilhelm, 
a  book-keeper  at  the  same  salary,  very  soon  per- 
ceived the  difficulty  of  living  in  a  city  so  enticing  as 
Paris.  Therefore,  during  the  second  year  of  their 
sojourn,  in  1837,  Wilhelm,  who  possessed  a  rare 
talent  for  the  flute,  secured  a  place  in  the  orchestra 
led  by  Rons,  to  be  able  to  earn  occasional  butter 
for  his  bread.  As  to  Fritz,  he  could  find  no  other 
supplement  to  his  salary  than  by  displaying  the 
financial  capacity  of  a  descendant  of  the  Virlaz.  In 
spite  of  his  assiduity,  perhaps  because  of  his  very 
talents,  the  Frankforter  had  only  reached  two  thous- 
and francs  in  1843.  Poverty,  that  divine  step- 
mother, did  for  these  two  young  men  that  which 
their  own  mothers  had  never  been  able  to  accom- 
plish: she  taught  them  economy,  the  world,  and 
life;  she  gave  them  that  great,  that  stern  education 
which  she  dispenses  with  drubbings  to  all  great  men 
— all  of  them  unhappy  in  their  youth.  Fritz  and 
Wilhelm,  being  only  sufficiently-ordinary  mortals, 
did  not  give  ear  to  all  the  lessons  of  poverty;  they 
struggled  against  her  coercions,  they  found  her 
bosom  hard,  her  arms  fleshless,  and  they  were  quite 
unable  to  recognize  in  her  that  good  fairy  Urgela, 


102  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

who  yields  to  the  caresses  of  men  of  genius.  Nev- 
ertheless, they  learned  the  full  value  of  money,  and 
they  promised  themselves  to  clip  its  wings  if  ever  it 
again  crossed  their  threshold. 

"Well,  Papa  Schmucke,  I  will  explain  it  to  you 
in  a  word,"  replied  Wilhelm,  who  recounted  at  full 
length  this  history,  in  German,  to  the  pianist. 
"The  pere  Brunner  is  dead.  He  was,  unknown  to 
his  son  or  to  M.  Graff,  with  whom  we  lodged,  one 
of  the  first  promoters  of  the  Baden  railroads,  from 
which  he  realized  immense  profits,  and  he  has  left 
four  millions!  I  am  playing  the  flute  this  evening 
for  the  last  time.  If  this  were  not  a  first  represen- 
tation, I  should  have  left  the  theatre  several  days 
ago,  but  I  did  not  wish  to  fail  in  my  obligations." 

"  Dat  ees  right,  yung  man,"  said  Schmucke. 
"  Bud  whom  aire  you  going  to  marry?" 

"  The  daughter  of  M.  Graff,  our  host,  the  propri- 
etor of  the  Hotel  du  Rhin.  I  have  loved  Mademoi- 
selle £milie  for  seven  years.  She  has  read  so  many 
immoral  romances  that  she  has  refused  all  offers  for 
my  sake,  without  any  idea  of  what  might  come  of 
it.  This  young  lady  will  be  very  rich;  she  is  the 
only  heiress  of  the  Graffs,  the  tailors  of  the  Rue  de 
Richelieu.  Fritz  gives  me  five  times  the  sum  that 
we  squandered  together  at  Strasbourg — five  hundred 
thousand  francs!  He  puts  one  million  of  francs  into 
a  banking-house,  where  M.  Graff,  the  tailor,  will 
place  five  hundred  thousand  francs,  also;  the  father 
of  my  bride  will  allow  me  to  invest  the  dot,  which 
is  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs,  and  he 


COUSIN  PONS  103 

himself  comes  in  as  a  sleeping  partner  with  as  much 
more.  The  house  of  Brunner,  Schwab  &  Co.  will 
have,  then,  two  million  five  hundred  thousand  francs 
of  capital.  Fritz  has  just  bought  shares  to  the 
amount  of  fifteen  hundred  thousand  francs  in  the 
Bank  of  France,  to  guarantee  our  account.  This  is 
not  all  of  Fritz's  fortune,  for  he  still  has  his  father's 
houses  in  Frankfort,  which  are  rated  at  a  million, 
and  he  has  already  leased  the  Grand  Hotel  de  Hol- 
lande  to  a  cousin  of  the  Graffs." 

"  You  were  lookink  zorrowfully  at  your  frient," 
remarked  Schmucke,  who  had  been  listening  to 
Wilhelm  with  attention.  "  Ees  it  dat  you  aire 
uneesy  about  heem?" 

"  I  am  uneasy,  but  it  is  about  the  happiness  of 
Fritz,"  said  Wilhelm.  "  Look  at  him.  Is  that  the 
face  of  a  contented  man?  I  am  afraid  of  Paris  for 
him;  I  would  like  to  see  him  do  as  I  am  doing.  The 
ancient  demon  may  reawaken  in  him.  Of  our  two 
heads,  it  was  never  his  that  was  the  better  weighted. 
That  evening  dress,  that  opera  glass,  is  what  wor- 
ries me.  He  has  only  looked  at  the  Lorettes  in  the 
audience.  Ah!  if  you  only  knew  how  difficult  it  is 
to  persuade  Fritz  to  marry  !  he  has  a  horror  of 
what  they  call  in  France  '  paying  court;'  and  he  will 
have  to  be  launched  into  family  life  suddenly,  just 
as  in  England  they  launch  a  man  into  eternity." 

During  the  tumult  which  breaks  forth  at  the  con- 
clusion of  every  first  representation,  the  first  flute 
gave  his  invitation  to  his  orchestra  leader.  Rons 
accepted  joyfully.  Schmucke  perceived,  for  the 


104  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

first  time  in  three  months,  a  smile  on  the  face  of  his 
friend;  he  brought  him  home  to  the  Rue  de  Nor- 
mandie  in  profound  silence,  for  he  recognized  in  that 
gleam  of  joy  the  profundity  of  the  trouble  that  was 
devouring  Pons.  That  a  man  so  truly  noble,  so 
disinterested,  so  grand  in  feeling,  should  have  such 
weaknesses! — this  was  what  stupefied  the  stoic 
Schmucke,  who  had  become  horribly  saddened,  for 
he  felt  the  necessity  of  renouncing  the  sight  of  his 
"  goot  Bons "  sitting  opposite  him  at  table  every 
day,  for  Rons'  own  sake;  and  he  doubted  if  the 
sacrifice  were  possible;  the  thought  drove  him  crazy. 
The  proud  silence  maintained  by  Pons  in  his 
refuge  on  the  Mount  Aventine  of  the  Rue  de  Nor- 
mandie,  had  necessarily  been  noticed  by  the  presi- 
dent's wife,  who,  delivered  from  her  parasite, 
concerned  herself  but  little  about  him;  she  thought, 
as  did  her  charming  daughter,  that  the  old  man  had 
discovered  the  trick  played  by  her  little  Lili;  but 
not  so,  however,  the  president.  The  president, 
Camusot  de  Marville,  a  fat  little  man  grown  pompous 
since  his  advancement  at  court,  admired  Cicero,  pre- 
ferred the  Opera-Comique  to  the  Italiens,  compared 
one  actor  with  another,  followed  the  crowd  in  all 
things,  step  by  step;  he  repeated  as  his  own,  all  the 
opinions  of  the  ministerial  journals,  and  in  rendering 
judgment  paraphrased  the  ideas  of  the  councilor 
who  had  spoken  before  him.  This  magistrate,  the 
principal  traits  of  whose  character  were  well  known, 
obliged  by  his  position  to  take  serious  views  in  life, 
was  especially  tenacious  of  family  ties.  Like  most 


COUSIN  PONS  105 

husbands  who  are  naturally  ruled  by  their  wives, 
the  president  asserted  in  little  things  an  independence 
which  was  respected  by  his  wife.  If,  for  a  whole 
month,  he  had  accepted  the  empty  reasons  given 
him  by  his  wife  for  the  disappearance  of  Pons,  he 
ended  by  thinking  it  very  singular  that  the  old 
musician  and  friend  of  forty  years  standing,  came 
no  longer  to  his  house,  especially  after  having  made 
so  important  a  gift  as  the  fan  of  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour. This  fan,  recognized  by  Comte  Popinot  as 
a  chef-d'oeuvre,  won  for  Madame  de  Marville  at  the 
Tuileries,  where  the  treasure  was  passed  from  hand 
to  hand,  compliments  which  flattered  her  vanity 
excessively;  she  had  pointed  out  to  her  the  beauties 
of  the  ten  ivory  sticks,  each  of  which  showed  carv- 
ings of  unheard-of  delicacy.  A  Russian  lady — the 
Russians  always  think  they  are  in  Russia — offered  in 
the  salon  of  the  Comte  Popinot,  six  thousand  francs 
to  the  president's  wife  for  this  extraordinary  fan, 
smiling  to  see  it  in  such  hands,  for,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted, it  was  the  fan  of  a  duchess. 

"  It  cannot  be  denied  that  our  poor  cousin  under- 
stands these  foolish  trifles,"  said  Cecile  to  her  father, 
the  day  after  this  offer  was  made. 

"  Foolish  trifles!"  exclaimed  the  president.  "Why, 
the  Government  is  about  to  pay  three  hundred  thous- 
and francs  for  the  collection  of  the  late  Monsieur  the 
Councilor  Dusommerard,  and  to  spend,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  the  city  of  Paris,  nearly  one  million,  in 
buying  and  repairing  the  H6tel  Cluny,  to  hold  these 
'foolish  treasures.' — These  'foolish  treasures,' my 


106  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

dear  child,  are  frequently  the  only  evidences  left  us  of 
departed  civilizations.  An  Etruscan  pot,  a  necklace, 
which  are  worth  sometimes,  the  one  forty,  and  the 
other  fifty,  thousand  francs,  are  the  '  foolish  trifles  ' 
which  reveal  to  us  the  perfection  of  the  arts  at  the 
time  of  the  siege  of  Troy,  in  demonstrating  that  the 
Etruscans  were  Trojans  who  had  taken  refuge  in 
Italy!" 

Such  was  the  style  of  the  pleasantry  of  the  fat 
little  president;  he  usually  took  a  tone  of  ponderous 
irony  with  his  wife  and  daughter. 

"  The  combination  of  all  the  varieties  of  know- 
ledge which  these  'foolish  trifles'  require,  Cecile," 
he  resumed,  "is  a  science  that  is  called  archae- 
ology. Archeology  comprises  architecture,  sculp- 
ture, painting,  goldsmiths'  work,  keramics,  cabinet 
and  ebony  work,  which  is  a  wholly-modern  art, 
laces,  tapestries — in  short,  all  the  creations  of  human 
labor." 

"  Cousin  Pons  is,  then,  quite  a  learned  man,"  said 
Cecile. 

"Ah,  now,  why  does  he  not  come  here  any 
more?"  demanded  the  president,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  is  conscious  of  a  commotion  produced  by 
a  thousand  forgotten  observations,  the  sudden  re- 
union of  which  "  packs  "  things,  to  borrow  a  sports- 
man's expression. 

"He  has  probably  taken  offense  at  some  trifle," 
replied  his  wife.  "  I  was  not  perhaps  quite  as  grate- 
ful as  I  should  have  been  for  the  gift  of  this  fan.  I 
am,  as  you  know,  sufficiently  ignorant — " 


COUSIN  PONS  107 

"You!  one  of  Servin's  best  pupils!"  cried  the 
president.  "You  do  not  know  Watteau?" 

"I  know  David,  Gerard,  Gros,  and  Girodet,  and 
Guerin,  and  M.  de  Forbin,  and  M.Turpin  de  Crisse — " 

"  You  ought  to  have — " 

"What  ought  I  to  have,  monsieur?  "demanded  the 
president's  wife,  looking  at  her  husband  with  the 
air  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba. 

"  Known  who  Watteau  is,  my  dear;  he  is  very 
much  the  fashion,"  replied  the  president,  with  a 
humility  which  denoted  his  many  obligations  to  his 
wife 


This  conversation  took  place  a  few  days  before 
the  first  representation  of  La  Fiancee  du  Diable,  at 
which  the  whole  orchestra  was  struck  by  the  feeble 
health  of  Pons.  Before  long,  all  the  families  accus- 
tomed to  see  Pons  at  their  dinner  tables  and  to  send 
him  on  their  errands,  made  inquiry  about  him  among 
themselves,  and  there  diffused  itself  in  the  circle  in 
which  the  good  soul  usually  moved,  an  uneasiness 
which  was  all  the  greater  since  several  persons  saw 
him  at  his  post  in  the  theatre.  Notwithstanding  the 
care  with  which  Pons  avoided,  in  his  promenades, 
his  former  acquaintances  when  he  met  them,  he  at 
last  came  face  to  face  with  the  former  minister, 
Comte  Popinot,  in  the  establishment  of  Monistrol, 
one  of  those  illustrious  and  audacious  merchants  of 
the  new  Boulevard  Beaumarchais,  formerly  men- 
tioned by  Pons  to  Madame  de  Marville,  and  through 
whose  crafty  enthusiasm  is  increased  from  day  to 
day  the  prices  of  curiosities  which,  as  they  say,  are 
becoming  so  rare  that  there  will  soon  be  no  more  of 
them  to  be  had. 

"tMy  dear  Pons,  why  do  we  no  longer  see  you?" 
said  Comte  Popinot.  "We  miss  you  very  much, 
and  Madame  Popinot  does  not  know  what  to  make 
of  this  desertion." 

"Monsieur  le  Comte,"  replied  the  old  man,  "I 
was  given  to  understand  in  a  house,  that  of  a  relation, 
(109) 


1 10  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

that  at  my  age,  people  are  de  trop  in  society.  I 
have  never  been  received  with  much  courtesy,  but 
at  least  I  was  never  insulted.  I  have  never  asked 
anything  of  anyone,"  he  said,  with  the  pride  of  the 
artist.  "  In  return  for  certain  civilities,  I  have  often 
made  myself  useful  to  those  who  welcomed  me;  but 
it  appears  that  I  have  made  a  mistake.  I  am 
expected  to  fetch  and  carry  at  every  one's  beck  and 
call,  for  the  honor  I  receive  in  dining  among  my 
friends,  my  relations.  Well,  I  have  resigned  my 
office  of  '  poor  relation.'  At  home  I  find  every  day 
that  which  no  table  has  offered  me  elsewhere,  a 
true  friend." 

These  words,  full  of  a  bitterness  which  the  old 
artist  still  had  the  faculty  to  further  enforce  by  ges- 
ture and  accent,  so  impressed  the  peer  of  France 
that  he  took  the  worthy  musician  aside. 

"  My  old  friend,  tell  me  what  has  happened. 
Can  you  not  confide  to  me  who  it  is  that  has 
wounded  you?  You  will  allow  me,  I  am  sure,  to 
point  out  to  you  that  in  my  house  no  one  has  failed 
in  paying  you  proper  respect." 

"You  are  the  only  exception  that  I  make,"  said 
the  poor  man.  "  Besides,  were  it  otherwise,  you 
are  a  great  lord,  a  statesman,  and  your  occupations 
would  excuse  everything  if  need  were." 

Pons,  subjected  to  the  diplomatic  tact  which  Pop- 
inot  had  acquired  in  the  manipulation  of  public 
affairs,  ended  by  relating  his  ill-usage  in  the  house 
of  President  de  Marville.  Popinot  took  up  the 
victim's  wrongs  so  warmly  that  he  went  home  and 


COUSIN   PONS  III 

told  the  whole  story  to  Madame  Popinot,  an  excel- 
lent and  worthy  woman,  who  made  certain  repre- 
sentations to  the  president's  wife  the  first  time  they 
met  each  other.  The  former  minister  having,  on 
his  side,  said  a  few  words  on  the  subject  to  the 
president,  there  was  a  family  explanation  in  the 
Camusot  de  Marville  household.  Though  Camusot 
was  not  altogether  master  in  his  own  house,  his 
remonstrances  in  this  case  were  too  well  founded  on 
facts  and  on  justice  for  his  wife  and  his  daughter  not 
to  recognize  their  force;  both  of  them  admitted  the 
wrong  in  throwing  the  blame  upon  the  servants. 
These  latter,  called  up  and  reprimanded,  obtained 
their  pardon  only  by  full  confession,  which  proved 
to  the  president  what  good  reasons  Pons  had  for 
remaining  at  home.  Like  the  masters  of  all  house- 
holds ruled  by  the  wives,  the  president  displayed  all 
his  majesty,  marital  and  judicial,  in  declaring  to  his 
domestics  that  they  should  all  be  sent  away  and  lose 
all  the  advantages  acquired  by  their  long  service  in 
his  house,  if  in  future  his  cousin  Pons  and  all  those 
who  did  him  the  honor  to  come  to  his  house,  were 
not  treated  as  well  as  he  himself  was.  This  last 
remark  made  Madeleine  smile. 

"  You  have  but  one  chance  for  forgiveness,"  said 
the  president,  "  and  that  is  to  make  your  excuses  to 
my  cousin,  and  ask  his  pardon.  Go,  and  tell  him 
that  your  situation  in  my  house  depends  entirely 
upon  him,  for  I  shall  send  you  all  away  if  he  does 
not  forgive  you." 

The  next  day,  the  president  went  off  at  an  early 


112  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

hour  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  cousin  before  the  open- 
ing of  the  court.  The  appearance  of  M.  le  President 
de  Marville,  announced  by  Madame  Cibot,  was  an 
event.  Pons,  who  received  this  honor  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  foresaw  a  reparation. 

"My  dear  cousin,"  said  the  president,  after  the 
usual  compliments,  "  I  have  at  last  learned  the 
cause  of  your  absence.  Your  conduct  increases,  if 
that  were  possible,  the  esteem  I  feel  for  you.  I 
shall  say  but  one  word  to  you  on  this  subject.  My 
servants  are  all  dismissed.  My  wife  and  daughter 
are  in  distress  ;  they  wish  to  see  you  and  to  make 
an  explanation.  In  all  this,  my  dear  cousin,  there 
is  only  one  innocent  person — and  that  is  an  old 
judge  ;  do  not  punish  me,  then,  for  the  thoughtless- 
ness of  a  giddy  young  girl  whose  heart  was  set 
on  dining  with  the  Popinots ;  above  all,  when 
I  come  to  you  to  make  peace,  in  admitting  that 
all  the  fault  is  on  our  side. — A  friendship  of  thirty- 
six  years,  even  supposing  it  changed,  has  still 
some  rights.  Come,  sign  a  peace  by  dining  with  us 
to-night." 

Pons  involved  himself  in  a  diffuse  reply,  and 
finally  contrived  to  explain  to  his  cousin  that  he  was 
to  be  present  that  evening  at  the  marriage  of  a 
musician  of  his  orchestra  who  was  about  to  throw 
away  his  flute  and  become  a  banker. 

"Very  well,  then,  to-morrow." 

"  My  cousin,  Madame  le  Comtesse  Popinot,  has 
done  me  the  honor  to  invite  me  by  a  letter  of  such 
cordial  kindness — " 


COUSIN  PONS  113 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow,  then,"  resumed  the 
president. 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow,  the  partner  of  my 
first  flute,  a  German,  Monsieur  Brunner,  gives  a 
return  party  to  the  bride  and  bridegroom — " 

"  You  are  well  worthy  of  such  contention  for  the 
pleasure  of  receiving  you,"  said  the  president. 
"Very  well,  Sunday  next.  A  week's  notice — as 
they  say  at  the  Palais." 

"  But  that  day  we  dine  with  M.  Graff,  the  father- 
in-law  of  the  flute — " 

"  Well  then,  Saturday  !  Between  now  and  then 
you  will  have  time  to  comfort  a  little  girl  who  has 
already  shed  many  tears  for  her  fault.  God  asked 
nothing  but  repentance.  Will  you,  then,  be  more 
exacting  than  the  Eternal  Father,  with  this  poor 
little  Cecile  ?" 

Pons,  taken  on  his  weak  side,  fell  back  upon  for- 
mulas that  were  more  than  polite,  and  accompanied 
the  president  to  the  landing  of  the  staircase.  An 
hour  later  all  the  servants  of  the  president  arrived 
at  the  house  of  the  good  man  Pons.  They  behaved 
after  the  manner  of  servants,  cringing  and  wheed- 
ling ;  they  even  wept !  Madeleine  took  M.  Pons 
apart  and  threw  herself  resolutely  at  his  feet. 

"  It  was  I,  monsieur,  who  did  it  all,  and  monsieur 
knows  well  that  I  love  him,"  she  said,  bursting  into 
tears.  ' '  It  was  to  the  revenge  which  made  my  blood 
boil,  that  monsieur  must  lay  all  the  blame  for  this 
miserable  business.  We  shall  lose  all  of  our  annui- 
ties ! — Monsieur,  I  was  beside  myself,  and  I  do  not 
8 


114  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

want  my  fellow-servants  to  suffer  for  my  folly.  I 
see  now  that  fate  has  not  destined  me  for  monsieur. 
I  have  grown  reasonable.  I  had  too  much  ambition, 
but  I  love  you  always,  monsieur.  During  ten  years 
I  have  thought  of  no  other  happiness  than  that  of 
making  yours  and  of  taking  care  of  you  here. 
What  a  beautiful  fate  ! — Oh,  if  monsieur  only  knew 
how  I  love  him !  But  monsieur  must  have  seen  it 
in  all  my  wickednesses.  If  I  should  die  to-morrow, 
what  would  they  find? — My  will  drawn  up  in  your 
favor — Yes,  monsieur,  in  my  trunk,  under  my 
jewels!" 

By  sounding  this  chord,  Madeleine  delivered  the 
old  bachelor  to  those  enjoyments  of  vanity  which 
always  come  from  the  knowledge  that  we  have 
inspired  a  passion,  even  when  the  passion  itself  is 
displeasing.  After  having  nobly  forgiven  Madeleine, 
he  took  the  whole  household  back  into  favor,  promis- 
ing that  he  would  speak  to  his  cousin,  the  presi- 
dent's wife,  asking  her  to  keep  all  of  them  still 
in  her  household.  Pons  saw  himself,  with  an  ineffa- 
ble delight,  re-established  in  all  his  habitual  en- 
joyments, without  having  committed  any  unworthy 
action.  People  had  come  to  him,  the  dignity  of  his 
character  would  be  enhanced  ;  but  in  explaining  his 
triumph  to  his  friend  Schmucke,  he  had  the  pain  of 
observing  the  latter  become  sad  and  full  of  unex- 
pressed doubts.  Nevertheless,  at  the  sight  of  the 
sudden  change  which  took  place  in  Pons's  counte- 
nance, the  good  German  ended  by  rejoicing  in  the 
sacrifice  of  the  happiness  which  he  had  tasted,  of 


COUSIN  PONS  115 

having  his  friend  all  to  himself  for  nearly  four 
months.  The  jnoral  maladies  have  one  great 
advantage  over  the  physical  ones,  they  can  be 
cured  instantaneously  by  the  fulfillment  of  the 
desire  which  causes  them,  as  they  owe  their  origin 
to  privation.  Pons  this  morning  was  no  longer  the 
same  man.  The  sad,  and  apparently  dying,  old  man 
gave  place  to  the  satisfied  Pons,  who  had  lately 
carried  to  the  president's  wife  the  fan  of  the  Mar- 
quise de  Pompadour.  But  Schmucke  fell  into  pro- 
found reveries  over  this  phenomenon  which  he 
could  not  comprehend  ;  for  genuine  stoicism  can 
never  explain  to  itself  French  social  subserviency. 
Pons  was  a  true  Frenchman  of  the  Empire,  in  whom 
the  gallantry  of  the  last  century  was  united  to  the 
devotion  to  women,  so  well  celebrated  in  the  song 
"  Partant  pour  la  Syrie,"  and  others.  Schmucke 
buried  his  chagrin  in  his  heart,  under  the  flowers  of 
his  German  philosophy  ;  but  at  the  end  of  a  week 
he  had  grown  quite  yellow,  and  Madame  Cibot 
employed  much  artifice  to  get  him  to  see  the  "doctor 
of  the  quarter."  This  physician  feared  an  icterus,  and 
he  left  Madame  Cibot  overwhelmed  by  his  learned 
word,  the  explanation  of  which  is  "jaundice." 

For  the  first  time,  perhaps,  the  two  friends  dined 
out  together  that  evening  ;  but  for  Schmucke  it  was 
like  making  a  trip  into  Germany.  In  fact,  Johann 
Graff,  the  master  of  the  Hotel  du  Rhin,  and  his 
daughter  £milie  ;  Wolfgang  Graff,  the  tailor,  and  his 
wife  ;  Fritz  Brunner  and  Wilhelm  Schwab,  were  all 
Germans.  Pons  and  the  notary  found  themselves 


Il6  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  only  Frenchmen  admitted  to  the  banquet. 
The  tailors,  who  possessed  a  magnificent  house  in 
the  Rue  de  Richelieu,  between  the  Rue  Neuve-des- 
Petits-Champs  and  the  Rue  Villedo,  had  educated 
their  niece,  whose  father  feared,  not  without  reason, 
to  let  her  come  in  contact  with  the  people  of  all 
kinds  who  frequented  his  hotel.  These  worthy 
tailors,  who  loved  this  child  as  if  she  were  their  own 
daughter,  gave  up  the  ground  floor  to  the  young 
couple.  There,  too,  was  to  be  established  the  bank- 
ing house  of  Brunner,  Schwab  &  Co.  As  all  these 
arrangements  had  been  made  a  month  before,  in 
order  to  give  time  to  come  into  the  possession  of  the 
inheritance  which  had  fallen  to  Brunner,  the  author 
of  all  this  felicity,  the  apartment  of  the  future 
wedded  pair  had  been  richly  renovated  and  furnished 
by  the  famous  tailor.  The  counting-rooms  of  the 
bank  were  placed  in  a  wing  which  connected  a 
magnificent  warehouse  with  the  old  mansion  standing 
between  the  court  and  the  garden. 


As  they  walked  from  the  Rue  de  Normandie  to 
the  Rue  de  Richelieu,  Rons  abstracted  from  the  ab- 
sent-minded Schmucke  the  details  of  this  new  story 
of  the  prodigal  son,  for  whom  death  had  killed  the 
fatted  inn-keeper.  Rons,  just  reconciled  with  his 
nearest  relations,  was  immediately  seized  with  the 
desire  to  marry  Fritz  Brunner  to  Cecile  de  Marville. 
It  so  chanced  that  the  notary  of  the  brothers  Graff 
was  actually  the  son-in-law  and  the  successor  to 
Cardot,  formerly  assistant  head-clerk  in  his  office, 
and  with  whom  Rons  had  frequently  dined. 

"Ah!  is  that  you,  M.  Berthier?"  said  the  old 
musician,  extending  his  hand  to  his  ex-amphitryon. 

"And  why  do  you  no  longer  give  us  the  pleasure 
of  coming  to  dine  with  us?"  asked  the  notary. 
"My  wife  was  uneasy  about  you.  We  saw  you  at 
the  first  representation  of  La  Fiancee  du  Didble,  and 
our  uneasiness  was  turned  into  curiosity." 

"Old  men  are  sensitive,"  replied  Rons,  "they 
have  the  misfortune  of  being  a  century  behind  the 
times;  but  what  can  be  done? — it  is  enough  to  rep- 
resent one,  they  can  never  belong  to  that  in  which 
they  die." 

"Ah!"  said  the  notary,  with  a  knowing  air,  "we 
cannot  keep  pace  with  two  centuries  at  once." 

"  Look  here!"  said  the  good  old  man,  drawing  the 
young  notary  into  a  corner,  "  why  could  you  not 
marry  my  cousin,  Cecile  de  Marville? — " 
("7) 


Il8  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Ah!  why?"  replied  the  notary.  "In  this  cen- 
tury, when  luxury  has  got  down  to  the  lodge  of  the 
concierges,  the  young  men  hesitate  to  couple  their 
fate  with  that  of  the  daughter  of  the  president  of 
the  Cour  Royale  of  Paris,  when  he  will  only  give  her 
a  dot  of  one  hundred  thousand  francs.  There  is 
no  such  thing  now-a-days  as  a  wife  who  costs 
her  husband  only  three  thousand  francs  a  year,  in 
the  class  to  which  the  husband  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Marville  must  belong.  The  income  from  such  a  dot 
would  not  pay  the  expenses  of  the  toilet  of  such  a 
wife.  A  bachelor  with  fifteen  to  twenty  thousand 
francs  of  income  lives  in  a  pretty  entre-sol,  the  world 
doesn't  require  of  him  any  display,  he  can  have  only 
one  servant,  he  puts  all  his  income  into  his  pleasures, 
he  has  no  other  proprieties  to  consider  than  those  of 
which  his  tailor  takes  charge.  Courted  by  all  the 
designing  mothers,  he  is  one  of  the  kings  of  Parisian 
fashion.  On  the  contrary,  a  wife  must  have  an 
establishment;  she  wants  a  carriage  of  her  own;  if 
she  goes  to  the  theatre  she  must  have  a  box,  whereas 
a  bachelor  can  take  a  stall;  in  short,  she  requires  for 
herself  all  of  that  fortune  which  the  unmarried  man 
formerly  spent  on  himself.  Suppose  a  couple  with 
thirty  thousand  francs  of  income:  as  the  world  now 
is,  the  rich  bachelor  becomes  a  poor  devil  who  has 
to  consider  whether  he  can  afford  the  price  of  a 
ticket  to  Chantilly.  Then  come  the  children, — and 
poverty  is  felt  at  once.  As  M.  and  Madame  de  Mar- 
ville are  barely  fifty,  the  expectations  have  fifteen  or 
twenty  years  to  run;  no  bachelor  cares  to  carry  them 


COUSIN  PONS  IIQ 

in  his  portfolio  for  that  length  of  time,  and  the  gan- 
grene of  this  calculation  is  so  deep  in  the  heart  of 
all  the  young  rattlepates  who  dance  the  polka  with 
the  Lorettes  at  Mabille,  that  all  the  marriageable 
young  men  study  both  phases  of  this  problem  without 
needing  us  notaries  to  explain  it  to  them.  Between 
ourselves,  Mademoiselle  de  Marville  leaves  to  her 
pretenders  a  heart  sufficiently  calm  not  to  disturb  the 
head,  and  they  all  of  them  have  made  these  anti- 
matrimonial  reflections.  If  some  young  man  in  the 
enjoyment  of  his  reason  and  of  twenty  thousand 
francs  of  income  draws  up  for  himself  in  petto  a  pro- 
gramme of  an  alliance  that  shall  satisfy  his  ambition, 
Mademoiselle  de  Marville  is  so  far  from  filling  the 
bill—" 

"And  why?"  asked  the  astonished  musician. 

"Ah!"  replied  the  notary,  "to-day  almost  all  these 
bachelors,  even  if  they  are  as  ill-favored  as  you 
and  I,  my  dear  Pons,  have  the  impertinence  to  wish 
a  dot  of  six  hundred  thousand  francs,  a  young  woman 
of  good  family,  very  handsome,  very  spirituelle,  very 
well  educated,  without  defects,  perfect." 

"  My  cousin  will  then  find  it  difficult  to  get  mar- 
ried?" 

"  She  will  remain  unmarried  just  so  long  as  her 
father  and  her  mother  cannot  decide  to  give  her 
Marville  for  her  portion;  if  they  had  chosen  to  do 
this  she  would  have  been  Vicomtesse  Popinot 
already.  But  here  is  M.  Brunner;  we  are  going  to 
read  the  deed  of  association  for  the  house  of  Brunner 
&  Co.,  and  the  marriage  contract." 


120  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

As  soon  as  the  introduction  and  the  compliments 
were  over,  Pons,  invited  by  the  parents  to  sign  the 
contract,  listened  to  the  reading  of  the  deeds,  and 
then  about  half-past  five  o'clock  the  company  pro- 
ceeded to  the  dining-room.  The  dinner  was  one  of 
those  sumptuous  repasts  which  the  merchants  give 
when  they  lay  aside  all  thoughts  of  business;  this 
repast,  moreover,  testified  to  the  relations  which 
Graff,  the  master  of  the  Hotel  du  Rhin,  had  with 
the  chief  caterers  of  Paris.  Never  had  Pons  nor 
Schmucke  known  such  fare.  There  were  dishes 
a  ravir  la  pensee — pastry  of  unspeakable  delicacy, 
smelts,  incomparably  fried,  zferra  from  Geneva  with 
the  true  Genevese  sauce,  and  a  cream  for  the  plum- 
pudding  which  would  have  astonished  the  famous 
doctor  who,  they  say,  invented  it  in  London.  The 
company  rose  from  the  table  at  ten  o'clock  in  the 
evening.  The  amount  of  Rhine  wine  and  French 
wine  that  was  consumed  would  have  astonished 
dandies,  for  no  one  knows  the  quantity  of  liquid  that 
a  German  can  absorb  while  sitting  calm  and  tran- 
quil. You  have  to  dine  in  Germany  and  see  the 
bottles  succeed  one  another,  as  wave  succeeds 
wave  on  the  lovely  shore  of  the  Mediterranean, 
and  disappear,  as  if  the  Germans  had  the  absorb- 
ing powers  of  a  sponge  or  sand;  but  harmoniously, 
without  the  French  uproar;  the  discussion  remains 
as  sober  as  the  impromptu  of  a  usurer,  the  faces 
flush  like  those  of  the  fiancees  painted  in  the 
frescoes  of  Cornelius  or  of  Schnorr,  that  is  to  say, 
imperceptibly,  and  the  souvenirs  rise  and  spread 


COUSIN  PONS  121 

like  the  smoke  of  the  pipes — slowly  and  deliber- 
ately. 

Towards  half-past  ten,  Rons  and  Schmucke  found 
themselves  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the  garden,  on 
either  side  of  their  former  flute,  without  knowing  in 
the  least  how  they  had  got  there,  or  what  had  led 
them  to  explain  all  the  particulars  of  their  charac- 
ters, their  opinions  and  their  misfortunes.  In  the 
middle  of  this  pot-pourri  of  confidences,  Wilhelm 
spoke  of  his  desire  to  marry  off  Fritz,  with  a  force- 
fulness  and  eloquence  quite  vinous. 

"  What  should  you  say  to  this  programme  for  your 
friend  Brunner?"  cried  Pons  in  Wilhelm's  ear.  "A 
charming  young  girl,  sensible,  twenty-four  years  of 
age,  belonging  to  a  family  of  the  highest  distinc- 
tion, the  father  occupying  one  of  the  most  elevated 
positions,  as  magistrate,  one  hundred  thousand  francs 
for  a  dot,  and  expectations  of  a  million?" 

"  Wait,"  replied  Schwab,  "  I  will  go  and  speak  to 
Fritz  about  it  at  once." 

And  the  two  musicians  saw  Brunner  and  his  friend 
promenading  up  and  down  in  the  garden,  passing 
and  repassing  before  their  eyes,  listening  alternately 
to  each  other.  Pons,  whose  head  felt  rather  heavy, 
and  who,  without  being  absolutely  drunk,  had  as 
much  lightness  in  his  ideas  as  he  had  weight  in  the 
organ  that  contained  them,  looked  at  Fritz  Brunner 
through  the  diaphanous  cloud  exhaled  by  wine,  and 
chose  to  see  on  his  countenance  aspirations  for 
family  happiness.  Schwab  shortly  presented  to  M. 
Pons  his  friend  and  associate,  who  thanked  the  old 


122  THE   POOR  RELATIONS 

gentleman  cordially  for  the  interest  he  deigned  to  take 
in  him.  A  conversation  ensued  in  which  Schmucke 
and  Pons,  the  two  celibates,  exalted  marriage  and 
allowed  themselves,  without  any  malicious  meaning, 
to  make  the  punning  statement  that  "it  was  the 
end  of  man."  When  the  ices,  the  tea,  the  punch, 
and  the  cakes  were  served  in  the  new  apartment  of 
the  bride  and  groom,  the  hilarity  rose  to  its  highest 
pitch  among  these  estimable  merchants,  nearly  all 
of  them  drunken,  at  learning  that  the  silent  partner 
of  the  new  banking-house  was  about  to  follow  the 
example  of  his  associate. 

Schmucke  and  Pons,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, returned  home  along  the  boulevards,  philoso- 
phizing to  the  limits  of  reason,  on  the  harmony  of 
all  things  here  below. 

On  the  morrow  Pons  went  to  visit  his  cousin,  the 
president's  wife,  full  of  the  profound  joy  of  render- 
ing good  for  evil.  Poor,  dear,  noble  soul ! — Certainly 
he  did  indeed  attain  to  the  sublime,  as  every  one  will 
agree,  for  we  are  now  in  an  age  when  they  give  the 
Montyon  prize  to  those  who  do  their  duty  and  follow 
the  precepts  of  the  Gospel. 

"Ah!  they  will  feel  under  immense  obligations  to 
their  poor  relation,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  turned 
the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  Choiseul. 

A  man  less  absorbed  in  his  own  contentment  than 
Pons,  a  man  of  the  world,  a  suspicious  man,  in  re-en- 
tering this  house,  would  have  observed  more  closely 
the  president's  wife  and  her  daughter;  but  this  poor 
musician  was  a  child,  an  artist  full  of  simple  naivete, 


COUSIN  PONS  123 

believing  only  in  moral  excellences  as  he  believed  in 
the  beautiful  in  the  arts;  he  was  delighted  with  the 
caresses  which  Madame  de  Marville  and  her  daughter 
bestowed  upon  him.  This  worthy  soul,  who  had 
seen  vaudeville,  drama  and  comedy,  played  for  a 
dozen  years  before  his  eyes,  was  quite  unable  to 
perceive  the  grimaces  of  the  social  comedy,  to  which 
without  doubt  he  had  become  dulled.  Those  who 
frequent  the  Parisian  world  and  who  can  compre- 
hend the  dryness  of  body  and  soul  of  the  presi- 
dent's wife,  eager  only  for  honors  and  enraged  at 
her  own  virtue,  her  hypocritical  piety,  and  the 
haughtiness  of  character  of  a  woman  accustomed  to 
rule  in  her  own  household,  may  well  imagine  the 
hidden  hatred  she  bore  for  her  husband's  cousin 
ever  since  the  day  when  she  had  put  herself  in  the 
wrong.  All  her  demonstrations  of  friendship  and 
those  of  her  daughter  were,  then,  doubled  by  a  for- 
midable desire  for  revenge,  evidently  set  aside  for 
the  time  being.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Amelie 
had  been  openly  to  blame  in  the  eyes  of  her  husband, 
over  whom  she  ruled;  and  now  she  was  obliged  to 
show  herself  affectionate  to  the  author  of  her  de- 
feat!— No  analogy  to  this  situation  can  be  found, 
except  perhaps  in  those  hypocrisies  which  endure 
for  years  in  the  secret  college  of  cardinals,  or  in  the 
chapters  of  the  chiefs  of  religious  orders.  At  three 
o'clock,  at  the  hour  when  the  president  returned 
from  the  Palais,  Pons  had  scarcely  finished  recount- 
ing the  marvelous  incidents  of  his  acquaintance  with 
M.  Frederic  Brunner,  and  of  the  wedding  feast  of 


124  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  night  before,  which  had  not  finished  till  the 
morning,  and  of  all  that  concerned  the  afore- 
said Frederic  Brunner.  Cecile  had  gone  straight  to 
the  point  by  inquiring  in  what  manner  he  dressed — 
this  Frederic  Brunner,  of  his  figure,  of  his  style,  of 
the  color  of  his  hair  and  his  eyes,  and  when  she  had 
conjectured  that  his  appearance  was  distinguished, 
she  admired  the  generosity  of  his  character. 

"To  give  five  hundred  thousand  francs  to  his  com- 
panion in  misfortune!  Oh,  mamma,  I  shall  have  a 
carriage  and  a  box  at  the  Italiens!" 

And  Cecile  became  almost  pretty  in  thinking  of  the 
realization  of  all  the  pretensions  of  her  mother  for 
her,  and  of  the  accomplishment  of  those  hopes  of 
which  she  had  long  despaired. 

As  for  the  president's  wife,  she  only  uttered  this 
one  word:  "  My  dear  little  girl,  you  may  be  married 
in  a  fortnight." 

All  mothers  call  their  daughters,  when  they  are 
twenty -three  years  of  age,  "  little  girls!" 

"Nevertheless,"  said  the  president,  "we  must* 
have  time  to  make  inquiries;  never  will  I  give  my 
daughter  to  the  first  comer — " 

"As  for  inquiries,  it  was  Berthier  who  drew  up  the 
deeds,"  replied  the  old  artist.  "As  to  the  young 
man,  my  dear  cousin,"  he  added,  turning  to  Madame 
de  Marville,  "you  know  what  you  have  said  to  me! 
Very  well.  He  is  over  forty  years  of  age  and  half 
his  head  is  bald.  He  wishes  to  find  in  a  family  a 
haven  from  the  storms  of  life,  and  I  have  not  dis- 
suaded him;  all  tastes  are  found  in  human  nature." 


COUSIN  PONS  125 

"All  the  more  reason  to  see  M.  Frederic  Brunner," 
replied  the  president.  "I  do  not  wish  to  give  my 
daughter  to  a  valetudinarian." 

"Very  well,  my  dear  cousin,"  said  Pons,  still  ad- 
dressing Madame  de  Marville,  "  you  can  judge  of 
my  aspirant  in  five  days,  if  you  like;  for  with  your 
ideas,  one  interview  will  suffice — " 

Cecile  and  her  mother  made  a  gesture  of  delight. 

"  Frederic,  who  is  quite  a  distinguished  amateur, 
has  begged  me  to  let  him  see  my  little  collection," 
continued  Cousin  Pons.  "You  have  never  seen  my 
pictures  and  curiosities:  come,"  said  he  to  his  two 
relatives;  "you  will  be  there  as  two  ladies  brought 
by  my  friend  Schmucke,  and  you  can  make  ac- 
quaintance with  the  intended,  without  being  com- 
promised. Frederic  may  be  kept  in  perfect  ignorance 
as  to  who  you  are." 

"  Excellent!"  cried  the  president. 

The  consideration  now  showered  on  the  formerly 
disdained  parasite  may  be  imagined.  The  poor  man 
was  on  this  day  indeed,  the  cousin  of  the  president's 
wife.  The  happy  mother,  sinking  her  hatred  under 
the  waves  of  her  joy,  bestowed  upon  him  looks, 
smiles,  words,  which  sent  the  good  man  into  an 
ecstacy  at  the  thought  of  the  good  he  was  doing  and 
of  the  future  which  he  saw  opening  before  him. 
Should  he  not  find  at  the  Brunners,  the  Schwabs, 
the  Graffs,  just  such  dinners  as  that  he  had  eaten  the 
night  before?  He  saw  before  him  a  land  flowing  with 
milk  and  honey,  and  a  marvelous  vista  of  "covered 
dishes,"  gastronomic  surprises,  and  exquisite  wines. 


126  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"  If  our  cousin  Pons  brings  about  this  affair,"  said 
the  president  to  his  wife,  when  Pons  had  departed, 
"  we  ought  to  give  him  an  annuity  equal  to  his 
salary  as  leader  of  the  orchestra." 

"Certainly,"  said  Madame  de  Marville. 

Cecile  was  commissioned,  in  case  she  liked  the 
young  man,  to  make  the  old  musician  accept  this 
ignoble  munificence. 


The  next  day,  the  president,  anxious  to  have 
authentic  proofs  of  the  fortune  of  M.  Frederic  Brun- 
ner,  went  to  see  the  notary.  Berthier,  notified  of 
his  coming  by  Madame  de  Marville,  had  sent  for  his 
new  client,  the  banker  Schwab,  the  ex-flute.  Daz- 
zled by  such  an  alliance  for  his  friend, — it  is  well 
known  how  much  the  Germans  value  social  distinc- 
tions! In  Germany  a  woman  is  Mrs.  General,  Mrs. 
Counsellor,  Mrs.  Advocate, — Schwab  was  as  fluent 
as  a  collector  of  bric-a-brac  who  thinks  he  is  about 
to  trick  a  dealer. 

"Above  all,"  said  the  father  of  Cecile  to  Schwab, 
"  as  I  will  give  by  a  deed,  all  my  estate  of  Marville 
to  my  daughter,  I  should  desire  to  marry  her  under 
the  dotal  system.  M.  Brunner  will  invest,  then,  a 
million  of  francs  in  land  to  increase  the  Marville 
property,  and  constitute  it  an  immovable  settlement 
which  will  put  the  future  of  my  daughter  and  her 
children  in  safety  from  the  uncertainties  of  a  bank." 

Berthier  stroked  his  chin,  reflecting,  "  He  is  doing 
well,  M.  le  President!" 

Schwab,  after  getting  the  dotal  system  fully  ex- 
plained to  him,  answered  heartily  for  his  friend. 
This  clause  promised  to  accomplish  the  very  thing 
that  he  had  heard  Fritz  so  much  desire,  that  of 
securing  him  against  the  chance  of  ever  falling  back 
into  poverty. 

(127) 


128  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"  There  are  at  this  moment  about  twelve  hundred 
thousands  francs'  worth  of  farms  and  meadow-lands 
for  sale,"  said  the  president. 

"A  million  in  shares  of  the  Bank  of  France  will 
be  quite  sufficient,"  said  Schwab,  "to  guarantee 
the  account  of  our  house  at  the  bank  ;  Fritz  does 
not  wish  to  put  more  than  two  millions  in  business; 
he  will  do  what  you  wish,  M.  le  President." 

The  president  rendered  his  two  women  almost 
frantic  when  he  related  to  them  this  news. 
Never  had  so  rich  a  capture  fallen  so  complaisantly 
into  the  conjugal  net. 

"You  shall  be  Madame  Brunner  de  Marville," 
said  the  father,  "for  I  will  obtain  for  your  husband 
permission  to  join  this  name  to  his  own,  and  later, 
he  can  get  letters  of  naturalization.  If  I  become 
peer  of  France  he  shall  succeed  me." 

The  president's  wife  employed  five  days  in  pre- 
paring her  daughter.  On  the  day  of  the  interview, 
she  dressed  Cecile  with  her  own  hands,  equipped 
her  with  the  same  care  that  the  admiral  of  the  blue 
bestows  upon  the  equipment  of  the  pleasure-yacht  of 
the  Queen  of  England  when  she  departs  for  her  voy- 
age to  Germany. 

On  their  side,  Pons  and  Schmucke  cleaned  and 
dusted  the  museum,  the  apartment,  and  the  furni- 
ture, with  the  agility  of  sailors  swabbing  the  deck 
of  an  admiral's  flag-ship.  Not  a  speck  of  dust  in  the 
wood-carvings.  All  the  brasses  shone.  The  glass 
over  the  pastels  was  cleaned  till  it  gave  to  view 
clearly  the  works  of  Latour,  of  Greuze,  and  of 


COUSIN  PONS  129 

Liautard,  the  illustrious  painter  of  la  Chocolattire, 
the  gem  of  this  style  of  painting,  alas!  so  fugitive. 
The  inimitable  enamel  of  the  Florentine  bronzes 
gleamed.  The  stained  glass  glowed  in  its  splendid 
colors.  Each  treasure  sparkled  in  its  own  place  and 
uttered  its  own  note  to  the  soul  in  this  concert  of 
masterpieces  arranged  by  these  two  musicians — the 
one  as  true  a  poet  as  the  other. 

Clever  enough  to  avoid  the  difficulties  of  an 
entrance  upon  the  assembled  company,  the  ladies 
arrived  first;  they  wished  to  take  possession  of  the 
ground.  Pons  presented  his  friend  Schmucke  to  his 
relations,  in  whose  eyes  he  appeared  to  be  an  idiot. 
Occupied  as  they  were  with  the  prospect  of  a  fiance 
four  times  a  millionaire,  the  two  ignorant  women 
paid  sufficiently  slight  attention  to  the  artistic  elu- 
cidation of  the  worthy  Pons.  They  regarded  with 
an  indifferent  eye,  enamels  of  Petitot,  carefully  dis- 
played in  three  marvelous  frames  of  red  velvet. 
The  flower-pieces  of  Van  Huysum  and  David  de 
Heim,  the  insects  of  Abraham  Mignon,  the  Van 
Eycks,  the  Albert  Diirers,  the  genuine  Cranachs, 
the  Giorgione,  the  Sebastien  del  Piombo,  Back- 
huysen,  Hobbema,  and  Gericault.  All  these  mar- 
vels of  painting  did  not  even  excite  their  curiosity, 
for  they  were  waiting  for  the  sun  which  was  to 
light  up  all  this  richness;  nevertheless  they  were 
surprised  at  the  beauty  of  some  Etruscan  jewels  and 
the  real  value  of  the  snuff-boxes.  They  were 
enthusing,  for  politeness,  over  some  Florentine 
bronzes  which  they  held  in  their  hands  at  the 
9 


130  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

moment  Madame  Cibot  announced  M.  Brunner! 
They  refrained  from  turning  around,  but  they  took 
advantage  of  a  superb  Venice  glass  framed  in  a  huge 
mass  of  carved  ebony,  to  examine  this  phoenix  of 
matrimonial  aspirants. 

Frederick,  warned  by  Wilhelm,  had  brushed 
together  in  a  mass  the  few  hairs  that  remained  to 
him.  He  wore  a  handsome  pair  of  pantaloons  of  a 
soft,  though  dark  shade,  a  silk  waistcoat  of  supreme 
elegance  and  of  a  new  cut,  an  openwork  linen  shirt 
of  the  finest  linen,  made  by  hand  in  Holland,  and  a 
blue  cravat  figured  with  white  lines.  His  watch-chain 
came  from  Florent  and  Chanor,  and  so  did  the  knob 
of  his  cane.  As  for  his  coat,  Pere  Graff  had  cut  it  him- 
self out  of  his  very  finest  cloth.  A  pair  of  gants  de 
Sudde  proclaimed  the  man  who  had  already  squan- 
dered the  fortune  of  his  mother.  From  the  polish  of 
his  varnished  boots  it  was  easy  to  guess  at  the  little 
coupe  and  the  two  horses  of  the  banker  standing 
before  the  door  in  the  street  below,  even  if  the  ears 
of  the  two  women  had  not  already  heard  the  rolling 
of  its  wheels  in  the  Rue  de  Normandie. 

When  the  rake  of  twenty  is  the  chrysalis  of  a 
banker,  he  develops  at  forty  into  so  keen  an  ob- 
server, that  Brunner  had  already  learned  of  the  ad- 
vantage that  a  German  can  obtain  by  his  apparent 
simplicity.  He  had  assumed,  for  this  morning,  the 
reflective  air  of  a  man  who  is  deciding  between 
family  life  to  be  possibly  assumed,  or  the  dissipa- 
tions of  a  bachelor  to  be  continued.  Such  an  ex- 
pression in  a  Gallicized  German  seemed  to  Cecile 


COUSIN  PONS  131 

the  superlative  of  the  romantic.  She  saw  another 
Werther  in  the  descendant  of  the  Virlaz.  Where  is 
the  young  girl  who  cannot  make  her  own  little 
romance  out  of  the  history  of  her  marriage?  Cecile 
thought  herself  the  happiest  of  women  when 
Brunner  grew  enthusiastic  before  the  magnificent 
works  of  art  collected  during  forty  years  of  patience, 
and  estimated  them  for  the  first  time  at  their  real 
value,  to  the  huge  satisfaction  of  Pons. 

"  He  is  a  poet,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Marville  to 
herself.  "There  are  millions  of  ideas  for  him  in 
these  things."  Now,  a  poet  is  a  man  who  does  not 
calculate,  who  leaves  his  wife  mistress  of  his  for- 
tune, a  man  easy  to  lead  and  who  occupies  himself 
with  fooleries. 

Every  pane  in  the  two  windows  in  the  old  room 
was  of  Swiss  stained  glass,  the  least  valuable  of 
which  was  worth  one  thousand  francs,  and  there 
were  sixteen  of  these  chefs-d'oeuvre,  in  the  search 
of  which  amateurs  travel  far  and  near  now-a-days. 
In  1815,  this  glass  could  be  bought  for  from  six  to 
ten  francs.  The  worth  of  the  sixty  paintings  alone, 
contained  in  this  rare  collection,  all  of  them  pure 
masterpieces,  never  retouched,  perfectly  authentic, 
could  not  be  ascertained  except  in  the  heat  of  the 
competition  of  a  public  sale.  Enclosing  each  picture 
was  a  frame  of  an  immense  value  showing  speci- 
mens of  every  workmanship, — the  Venetian,  with 
its  heavy  ornamentation  similar  to  that  of  the  present 
English  silverware;  the  Roman  frame,  so  remarkable 
for  that  which  artists  call  theflafla;  the  Spanish  frame 


132  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

with  its  bold  leafage;  the  Flemish  and  German  with 
their  naive  figures;  the  frames  of  tortoise-shell  inlaid 
with  copper,  with  brass,  with  mother-of-pearl  or 
ivory;  the  frame  of  ebony,  the  frame  in  box-wood, 
the  frame  in  brass,  the  frames  of  Louis  XIII.,  XIV., 
XV.,  and  XVI. — in  short,  a  unique  collection  of  the 
finest  models.  Pons,  more  fortunate  than  the 
museums  of  Dresden  and  Vienna,  possessed  a  frame 
made  by  the  famous  Brustolone,  the  Michael  Angelo 
of  wood-carving. 

Mademoiselle  de  Marville  very  naturally  asked  for 
explanations  about  each  new  treasure.  She  made 
Brunner  initiate  her  into  the  knowledge  of  these 
marvels.  And  she  was  so  artless  in  her  exclama- 
tions, she  appeared  so  delighted  to  learn  from  Fred- 
eric the  value,  the  beauty  of  a  painting,  of  a  carving, 
of  a  bronze,  that  the  German  thawed  out, — his  face 
became  really  youthful.  In  short,  on  both  sides, 
they  went  somewhat  further  than  was  intended  at 
this  first  interview,  especially  as  it  was  supposed  to 
be  accidental. 

This  meeting  lasted  three  hours.  Brunner  offered 
his  hand  to  Cecile,  to  assist  her  down  the  staircase. 
In  descending  the  steps  with  judicious  slowness, 
Cecile,  still  conversing  on  the  fine  arts,  expressed 
her  surprise  at  the  enthusiasm  of  her  admirer  for  the 
knick-knacks  of  her  cousin  Pons. 

"You  really  think,  then,  that  what  we  have  just 
seen  is  worth  a  great  deal  of  money?" 

"Ah!  mademoiselle,  if  monsieur  your  cousin  would 
only  offer  to  sell  me  his  collection,  I  would  give  him 


COUSIN  PONS  133 

for  it  this  very  evening  eight  hundred  thousand  francs, 
and  I  should  not  be  making  a  bad  bargain.  The  sixty 
pictures  alone  would  bring  more  at  a  public  sale." 

"  I  believe  it,  since  you  tell  me  so,"  she  replied. 
"And  it  must  be  true,  because  it  is  for  such  things 
that  you  chiefly  care." 

"Oh,  mademoiselle!"  exclaimed  Brunner,  "for 
my  sole  reply  to  that  reproach,  I  am  going  to  ask  of 
madame  your  mother  the  permission  to  present 
myself  at  her  house  in  order  to  have  the  happiness 
of  seeing  you  again." 

"How  clever  she  is,  my  little  girl!"  thought  the 
president's  wife,  who  was  following  at  the  heels  of 
her  daughter. 

"With  the  greatest  pleasure,  monsieur,"  she  said 
aloud.  "  I  hope  that  you  will  come  with  our  cousin 
Rons  at  the  dinner  hour.  My  husband,  the  presi- 
dent, will  be  delighted  to  make  your  acquaintance. — 
Thank  you,  cousin." 

She  pressed  the  arm  of  Pons  so  significantly  that 
the  sacramental  phrase,  "  We  are  one  for  life  and 
death!"  would  scarcely  have  seemed  more  binding. 
She  actually  embraced  Pons  with  the  glance  that 
accompanied  this  "thank  you,  cousin." 

After  putting  the  young  lady  into  the  coach,  and 
when  it  had  disappeared  around  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  Chariot,  Brunner  talked  bric-a-brac  to  Pons, 
who  talked  marriage. 

"  So  you  don't  see  any  objections?"  said  Pons. 

"Ah!"  replied  Brunner,  "the  girl  is  insignificant, 
the  mother  is  a  little  affected, — we  will  see  about  it." 


134  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"There  is  a  fine  fortune  to  come,"  replied  Rons, 
"  more  than  a  million  — " 

"  Next  Monday,  then,"  interrupted  the  millionaire. 
"  If  you  should  wish  to  sell  your  collection  of  pic- 
tures, I  am  ready  to  give  you  five  or  six  hundred 
thousand  francs — " 

"Ah!"  cried  the  old  man,  who  did  not  know  he  was 
so  rich;  "  but  I  could  not  separate  myself  from  that 
which  makes  my  happiness. — I  could  only  sell  my 
collection  to  be  delivered  after  my  death." 

"Very  well,  we  will  see — " 

"  There  are  two  affairs  going,"  thought  the  col- 
lector, though  it  was  only  the  marriage  which  inter- 
ested him. 

Brunner  saluted  Pons  and  disappeared,  carried  off 
by  his  elegant  equipage.  Pons  watched  the  depart- 
ure of  the  little  coupe,  without  noticing  Remonencq, 
who  was  smoking  on  the  threshold  of  his  door. 

The  same  evening,  at  the  house  of  her  father-in- 
law,  whom  Madame  de  Marville  had  gone  to  con- 
sult, she  found  the  Popinot  family.  In  her  desire  to 
satisfy  a  small  vengeance  very  natural  in  the  hearts 
of  mothers  when  they  have  notsucceeded-in  captur- 
ing the  son  and  heir  of  a  family,  the  president's  wife 
let  it  be  understood  that  Cecile  was  about  to  make 
a  splendid  marriage.  "  Who  is  Cecile  going  to 
marry,  then?"  went  from  lip  to  lip.  And  then, 
not  intending  to  betray  her  secrets,  the  president's 
wife  gave  so  many  hints,  whispered  so  many  con- 
fidences, which  were  confirmed,  it  may  be  said, 
by  Madame  Berthier,  that  this  is  what  was  said 


COUSIN  PONS  135 

the  next  morning  in  all  that  bourgeois  empy- 
rean in  which  Rons  accomplished  his  gastronomic 
evolutions: 

"  Cecile  de  Marville  is  going  to  marry  a  young 
German  who  has  made  himself  a  banker  out  of  pure 
generosity,  for  he  is  worth  four  millions;  he  is  a 
hero  of  romance,  a  perfect  Werther,  charming,  kind- 
hearted,  having  sown  his  wild  oats,  and  is  distract- 
edly in  love  with  Cecile;  it  is  a  love  at  first  sight, 
and  all  the  more  marked  because  Cecile  had  for 
rivals  all  the  painted  Madonnas  collected  by  her 
cousin  Pons,"  etc.,  etc. 

The  succeeding  day  several  persons  called  to  com- 
pliment the  president's  wife,  solely  to  ascertain  if 
the  golden  goose  really  existed,  and  Madame  de 
Marville  executed  a  series  of  admirable  variations  on 
the  theme,  which  mothers  might  profitably  consult, 
as  in  former  days  people  consulted  the  "  Complete 
Letter-Writer:" 

"  No  marriage  is  actually  made,"  she  said  to 
Madame  Chiffreville,  "  until  you  get  back  from  the 
Mairie  and  the  church,  and  so  far  the  matter  has 
not  gone  beyond  the  preliminaries;  so  that  I  depend 
upon  your  friendship  not  to  speak  of  our  hopes — " 

"  You  are  most  fortunate,  Madame  le  President; 
marriages  are  made  with  great  difficulty  now-a-days. ' ' 

"Ah!  it  was  all  done  by  accident;  but  marriages 
are  often  made  in  that  way." 

"  So  you  are  really  going  to  marry  Cecile?"  said 
Madame  Cardot. 

"Yes,"   replied  the  president's  wife,  who  fully 


136  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

comprehended  the  spitefulness of  the  "really."  "We 
were  particular  and  it  was  that  which  delayed  Cecile  's 
establishment.  But  we  have  found  all  we  wanted, 
— fortune,  amiability,  good  character,  and  good 
looks.  My  dear  little  girl  deserves  them  all,  for 
that  matter.  Monsieur  Brunner  is  a  charming  young 
man,  very  distinguished;  he  loves  luxury,  he  knows 
life,  he  adores  Cecile,  he  loves  her  sincerely;  and 
notwithstanding  his  three  or  four  millions,  Cecile 
accepts  him. — We  did  not  really  expect  so  much, 
but  such  advantages  are  not  to  be  despised — " 
"  It  is  not  so  much  the  fortune  as  the  affection 
inspired  by  my  daughter  which  has  influenced  us," 
she  said  to  Madame  Lebas.  "  Monsieur  Brunner  is 
so  eager  that  he  wishes  the  marriage  to  take  place 
without  any  other  delays  than  the  legal  ones." 

"  He  is  a  stranger? — " 

"Yes,  madame;  but  I  frankly  admit  that  I  am 
glad  of  it.  No,  it  is  not  a  son-in-law,  it  is  a  son 
that  I  shall  have.  M.  Brunner  is  of  a  delicacy  that 
is  really  delightful.  You  cannot  think  with  what 
readiness  he  agreed  to  marry  under  the  dotal  system 
— that  is  a  great  security  for  families.  He  purchases 
for  twelve  hundred  thousand  francs  the  meadow- 
lands  which  will  some  day  be  reunited  toMarville." 

The  day  after,  there  were  fresh  variations  on  the 
same  theme.  Then  M.  Brunner  was  a  grand  seign- 
eur, doing  everything  en  grand  seigneur ;  he  never 
counted  costs;  and  if  M.  de  Marville  could  obtain 
for  him  special  letters  of  naturalization, — and  the 
government  clearly  owed  the  president  that  little 


COUSIN   PONS  137 

bit  of  patronage, — the  son-in-law  would  become  a 
peer  of  France.  The  exact  amount  of  his  fortune 
was  not  known,  but  he  had  "  most  beautiful  horses 
and  the  finest  equipage  in  all  Paris,"  etc. 

The  pleasure  that  the  Camusots  took  in  proclaim- 
ing their  hopes  said  only  too  plainly  that  this  triumph 
had  been  unhoped  for. 


Immediately  after  the  interview  in  the  apart- 
ments of  Cousin  Pons,  the  president,  prompted  by 
his  wife,  invited  the  Minister  of  Justice,  his  first 
president,  and  the  procureur  general  to  dine  with 
him  on  the  day  of  the  presentation  of  the  phoenix  of 
sons-in-law.  The  three  great  personages  accepted, 
although  invited  at  short  notice;  for  each  understood 
the  part  that  he  was  expected  to  play  by  the  father 
of  the  family,  and  they  readily  came  to  his  assist- 
ance. In  France  people  are  always  very  willing  to 
help  those  mothers  of  families  who  fish  for  rich  sons- 
in-law.  The  Comte  and  Comtesse  Popinot  also 
lent  their  presence  to  complete  the  glory  of  this 
occasion,  although  the  invitation  seemed  to  them  in 
bad  taste.  There  were  in  all  eleven  persons. 
Cecile's  grandfather,  the  old  Camusot,  and  his  wife, 
were  of  course  not  absent  from  this  reunion,  which 
was  intended,  through  the  distinguished  position  of 
the  guests,  to  definitely  commit  M.  Brunner, 
announced  as  we  have  seen,  as  one  of  the  richest 
capitalists  in  all  Germany,  a  man  of  great  taste, 
— for  he  loved  the  "little  girl" — the  future  rival  of 
the  Nucingens,  the  Kellers,  the  du  Tillets,  etc. 

"  It  is  our  family-day,"  said  Madame  de  Marville, 

with  well-studied  simplicity,  to  him  whom  she  already 

regarded  as  her  son-in-law  in  naming  to  him  the 

other  guests,  "  we  have  only  our  intimates.     First, 

(139) 


140  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  father  of  my  husband  who,  as  you  know,  has 
been  promised  a  peerage;  then  M.  le  Comte  and 
Madame  le  Comtesse  Popinot,  whose  son  was  not 
quite  rich  enough  for  Cecile;  but  we  are  none  the 
less  good  friends;  the  Minister  of  Justice,  the  first 
president,  the  procureur  general,  in  short,  all  our 
friends. — We  shall  be  obliged  to  dine  a  little  later 
than  usual  because  of  the  Chamber,  where  the  sit- 
tings never  finish  before  six  o'clock." 

Brunner  looked  significantly  at  Pons,  and  Pons 
rubbed  his  hands,  as  if  to  say,  "Such  are  our 
friends,  my  friends! — " 

The  president's  wife,  like  a  clever  woman,  had 
something  particular  to  say  to  her  cousin,  so  as  to 
leave  Cecile  te'te-a-te'te  for  a  moment  with  her 
Werther.  Cecile  chattered  a  good  deal  and  man- 
aged to  let  Frederic  see  a  German  dictionary  and 
German  grammar,  and  a  Goethe,  which  she  had 
hidden. 

"Ah!  you  were  studying  German,"  said  Brunner, 
coloring. 

It  takes  a  French  woman  to  lay  such  traps. 

"Oh!"  said  she,  "aren't  you  wicked! — It  is  not 
fair,  monsieur,  to  spy  into  my  hiding-places.  I  do 
wish  to  read  Goethe  in  the  original,"  she  added, 
"  and  I  have  studied  German  for  the  last  two  years." 

"  You  must  find  the  grammar  very  difficult,  very 
hard  to  understand,  for  I  see  you  have  cut  only  ten 
pages,"  remarked  Brunner,  naively. 

Cecile  confused,  turned  aside  to  hide  her  blushes. 
A  German  never  resists  such  witnesses.  He 


COUSIN  PONS  141 

took  Cecile  by  the  hand  and  brought  her  round, 
all  abashed  under  his  regard,  and  looked  at  her  as 
do  the  betrothed  in  the  romances  of  August  Lafon- 
taine,  of  modest  memory. 

"You  are  adorable,"  said  he. 

Cecile  made  a  coquettish  little  gesture  which  sig- 
nified, "And  you,  then, — who  would  not  love  you?" 

"  Mamma,  all  goes  well!"  she  said  in  the  ear  of 
her  mother,  who  returned  with  Pons. 

The  aspect  of  a  family  on  such  an  evening  as  this 
is  not  to  be  described.  Everyone  was  pleased  to 
see  a  mother  able  to  lay  her  hand  on  a  good  mar- 
riage for  her  daughter.  They  congratulated,  with 
words  ambiguous  or  with  a  double-barreled  meaning, 
Brunner,  who  feigned  to  understand  nothing,  and 
Cecile,  who  understood  everything,  and  the  presi- 
dent, who  went  about  collecting  compliments.  All 
the  blood  of  Pons  rang  in  his  ears,  and  he  fancied 
he  saw  all  the  footlights  of  his  theatre  dance  before 
him  when  Cecile  told  him  in  a  low  voice  and  in  a 
most  ingenious  manner  of  her  father's  intentions  as 
to  the  annuity  of  twelve  hundred  francs,  which  the 
old  artist  refused  positively,  giving  as  a  reason  the 
revelation  which  Brunner  had  made  to  him  of  the 
real  value  of  his  collection. 

The  Minister,  the  first  president,  the  procureur 
general,  the  Popinots,  all  the  business  personages, 
departed.  There  remained  only  the  old  Camusot 
and  Cardot,  the  former  notary,  assisted  by  his  son- 
in-law  Berthier.  The  worthy  Pons,  seeing  himself 
now  in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  thanked,  very 


142  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

awkwardly,  M.  and  Madame  de  Marville  for  the  offer 
which  Cecile  had  just  made  to  him.  Affectionate 
people  are  all  alike,  always  ready  to  yield  to  their 
first  impulse.  Brunner,  who  saw  in  this  offer  some- 
thing like  a  bribe,  felt  within  him  a  sudden  return 
to  Israelitish  traits,  and  assumed  an  attitude  which 
denoted  the  more  than  cold  reverie  of  a  calculator. 

"My  collection  or  its  value  will  be  sure  to  belong 
some  day  to  your  family,  whether  I  sell  it  to  our 
friend  Brunner,  or  whether  I  keep  it,"  said  Pons, 
revealing  to  the  astonished  family  that  he  was  pos- 
sessed of  articles  of  so  great  value. 

Brunner  observed  the  revulsion  of  feeling  shown 
by  all  these  uninformed  people  toward  a  man  who 
had  just  passed  from  a  state  of  indigence  to  one  of 
wealth,  just  as  he  had  already  observed  the  little 
spoilings  of  Cecile,  the  idol  of  the  household,  by  her 
father  and  mother,  and  he  conceived  a  sudden  desire 
to  excite  still  further  the  surprise  and  the  exclama- 
tions of  these  worthy  bourgeois. 

"  I  said  to  mademoiselle  that  the  pictures  of  M. 
Pons  were  worth  that  sum  to  me;  but  at  the  price 
which  works  of  art  have  now  attained,  no  one  would 
be  able  to  foresee  the  value  which  this  collection 
might  bring  at  a  public  sale.  The  sixty  pictures 
alone  would  bring  a  million.  I  saw  several  among 
them  worth  fifty  thousand  francs  each." 

4<  It  would  be  well  worth  while  to  be  your  heir," 
said  the  former  notary  to  Pons. 

"  But  my  heir,  that  is  my  cousin  Cecile,"  returned 
the  old  man,  still  clinging  to  his  relationship. 


COUSIN  PONS  143 

A  murmur  of  admiration  for  the  old  musician  ran 
through  the  room. 

"She  will  be  a  very  rich  heiress,"  said  Cardot, 
laughing  as  he  took  leave. 

Old  Camusot,  the  father,  the  president  and  his 
wife,  Cecile,  Brunner,  Berthier,  and  Pons,  were  thus 
left  together;  for  it  was  supposed  that  the  formal 
demand  for  the  hand  of  Cecile  would  now  be  made. 
In  fact,  as  soon  as  they  were  alone,  Brunner  com- 
menced by  a  question  which  appeared  to  the  parents 
of  good  augury. 

"I  am  led  to  believe,"  said  he,  addressing  Mad- 
ame de  Marville,  "that  mademoiselle  is  an  only 
daughter — " 

"Certainly,"  she  answered  proudly. 

"You  will  have  no  difficulty  with  any  one,"  said 
the  good  Pons,  in  order  to  bring  Brunner  to  the  point 
of  formulating  his  demand. 

Brunner  became  thoughtful,  and  a  fatal  silence 
spread  through  the  room  the  strangest  chill.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  president's  wife  had  admitted  that 
her  "  little  girl  "  was  an  epileptic.  The  president, 
feeling  that  his  daughter  ought  not  to  be  present, 
made  her  a  sign,  which  Cecile  understood  and  left 
the  room.  Brunner  remained  silent.  The  others 
looked  at  each  other.  The  situation  became  embar- 
rassing. The  old  Camusot,  a  man  of  experience,  led 
the  German  into  Madame  de  Marville's  bed-room 
under  pretence  of  showing  him  the  fan  which  Pons 
had  discovered,  and,  judging  that  some  difficulty 
had  arisen,  he  made  a  sign  to  his  son  and  his 


144  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

daughter-in-law,  and  Pons,  to  leave  him  alone  with 
the  future  son-in-law. 

"  Here  is  this  masterpiece,"  said  the  old  silk  mer- 
chant, showing  the  fan. 

"That  is  worth  at  least  five  thousand  francs," 
said  Brunner,  after  having  examined  it. 

"  Have  you  not  come  here,  monsieur,"  said  the 
future  peer  of  France,  "to  ask  the  hand  of  my 
grand-daughter?" 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  said  Brunner,  "I  beg  you  to 
believe  that  no  alliance  could  be  more  flattering  to 
me.  I  shall  never  find  a  young  lady  more  lovely, 
more  amiable,  and  who  would  suit  me  better  than 
Mademoiselle  Cecile;  but — " 

"Ah,  there  must  be  no  buts!"  said  the  old  Cam- 
usot,  "or  at  least  let  me  know  at  once  the  reason  of 
yours,  my  dear  sir." 

"Monsieur,"  replied  Brunner  gravely,  "I  am  very 
glad  that  no  promises  have  been  made  on  either 
side,  for  the  fact  of  her  being  an  only  daughter, — a 
fact  so  precious  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  excepting 
mine,  and  of  which  I  was  in  ignorance, —  believe 
me,  is  to  me  an  insurmountable  objection — " 

"How,  monsieur?"  said  the  old  man,  stupefied, 
"of  so  great  an  advantage  make  you  a  defect? 
Your  conduct  is  most  extraordinary,  and  I  should 
much  like  to  know  your  reasons  for  it." 

"Monsieur,"  replied  the  German  stolidly,  "I 
came  here  this  evening  with  the  intention  of  asking 
of  Monsieur  le  President  the  hand  of  his  daughter. 
I  wished  to  give  to  Mademoiselle  Cecile  a  brilliant 


COUSIN  PONS  145 

future  in  offering  her  all  that  she  would  consent  to 
accept  of  my  fortune;  but  an  only  daughter  is  a 
spoiled  child  who,  through  the  indulgence  of  her 
parents,  has  been  accustomed  to  having  her  own 
way,  and  who  has  never  known  opposition.  It  is 
here  as  it  is  in  several  other  families  in  which  I  have 
formerly  been  able  to  observe  the  worship  enter- 
tained for  this  species  of  divinity;  not  only  is  your 
grand-daughter  the  idol  of  the  house,  but  even  more, 
Madame  le  President  wears  in  it — you  know  what! 
Monsieur,  I  saw  my  father's  house  become  from  this 
cause,  a  hell.  My  step-mother,  the  cause  of  all  my 
troubles,  an  only  daughter,  adored,  the  most  charm- 
ing of  brides,  became  a  devil  incarnate.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  Mademoiselle  Cecile  is  an  exception  to 
my  rule;  but  I  am  no  longer  a  young  man,  I  am  forty 
years  old,  and  the  difference  between  our  ages  will 
occasion  difficulties  which  will  not  enable  me  to 
render  happy  a  young  lady  accustomed  to  see  her 
mother  do  entirely  as  she  likes,  to  whom  that  mother 
listens  as  if  to  an  oracle.  What  right  have  I  to  re- 
quire of  Mademoiselle  Cecile  a  change  in  all  her 
ideas  and  habits?  In  the  place  of  a  father  and 
mother,  indulging  her  least  caprices,  she  would 
encounter  the  egotism  of  a  forty-year-old  man;  if 
she  resisted,  it  would  be  the  forty-year-old  man  who 
would  be  vanquished.  I,  therefore,  behave  like  a 
man  of  honor,  I  withdraw.  But  I  wish  to  take  all 
the  blame  of  this  rupture  upon  myself,  and  if  it  is 
necessary  to  explain  why  I  have  made  only  one  visit 
here—" 

10 


146  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"If  these  are  your  reasons,  monsieur,"  said  the 
future  peer  of  France,  "however  singular  they  may 
be,  they  are  certainly  plausible — " 

"Monsieur,  do  not  doubt  my  sincerity,"  said 
Brunner,  interrupting  him  eagerly.  "  If  you  know 
some  poor  girl,  one  of  a  large  family  of  children, 
well-educated,  without  fortune,  of  which  there  are 
so  many  in  France,  and  if  her  character  is  such  as 
to  justify  my  offers,  I  will  marry  her." 

During  the  silence  which  followed  this  declaration, 
Frederic  Brunner  left  the  grandfather  of  Cecile, 
went  back  and  saluted  politely  the  president  and  the 
president's  wife,  and  withdrew.  A  living  commen- 
tary upon  the  escape  of  her  Werther,  Cecile  ap- 
peared as  pale  as  death;  hidden  in  her  mother's 
wardrobe,  she  had  heard  every  word. 

"Refused!"  she  whispered  in  her  mother's  ear. 

"Why .-"'demanded  Madame  deMarville,  address- 
ing her  embarrassed  father-in-law. 

"On  the  fine  pretence  that  only  daughters  are 
spoiled  children,"  replied  the  old  man.  "And  he  is 
not  altogether  wrong,"  added  he,  seizing  an  oppor- 
tunity to  blame  his  daughter-in-law,  who  had  been 
worrying  him  for  the  last  twenty  years. 

"My  daughter  will  die  of  it!  You  have  killed 
her!" — said  the  president's  wife  to  Rons,  supporting 
'her  daughter,  who  thought  it  becoming  to  justify 
these  words  by  sinking  into  her  mother's  arms. 

The  president  and  his  wife  carried  Cecile  to  a 
sofa,  where  she  completely  fainted  away.  The 
grandfather  rang  for  the  servants. 


COUSIN  PONS  147 

"  I  see  the  plot  he  has  hatched!"  said  the  furious 
mother,  pointing  to  poor  Pons. 

Rons  started  up  as  if  he  had  heard  in  his  ears  the 
trumpets  of  the  last  judgment. 

"  He  was  determined,"  continued  the  president's 
wife,  whose  eyes  were  like  two  fountains  of  green 
bile,  "  to  repay  an  innocent  jest  by  an  insult.  Who 
will  ever  believe  that  this  German  is  in  his  right 
senses?  Either  he  is  an  accomplice  in  an  atrocious 
revenge,  or  he  is  crazy.  I  hope,  Monsieur  Pons, 
that  in  the  future  you  will  spare  us  the  annoyance 
of  seeing  you  in  this  house,  to  which  you  have  tried 
to  bring  shame  and  dishonor." 

Pons,  turned  to  a  statue,  stood  with  his  eyes  on 
a  pattern  of  the  carpet,  twirling  his  thumbs. 

"What!  you  are  still  there,  monster  of  ingrati- 
tude!" cried  the  president's  wife,  turning  round. 
"We  are  never  at  home,  your  master  nor  I,  when- 
ever monsieur  calls  again!"  said  she  to  the  servants, 
indicating  Pons  to  them.  "  Go  and  fetch  the  doctor, 
Jean,  and  you,  Madeleine,  get  some  hartshorn!" 

For  the  president's  wife,  the  reasons  alleged  by 
Brunner  were  only  a  mere  pretence  to  hide  some 
hidden  motives;  but  the  breaking-off  of  the  mar- 
riage was  only  the  more  certain.  With  the  rapidity 
of  thought  which  distinguishes  women  under  ex- 
treme circumstances,  Madame  de  Marville  had  found 
the  only  way  of  repairing  the  damage  of  such  a 
defeat,  by  attributing  it  to  premeditated  vengeance 
on  the  part  of  Pons.  This  scheme,  infernal  as  far 
as  it  concerned  Pons,  would  redeem  the  honor  of  the 


148  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

family.  Through  her  hatred  of  the  old  man  she 
had  made  of  a  mere  female  suspicion,  a  fact.  Women 
in  general  have  a  particular  creed,  a  morality  of  their 
own;  they  believe  in  the  reality  of  everything  that 
serves  their  interests  and  their  passions.  The  presi- 
dent's wife  went  still  further,  she  persuaded  her 
husband  in  the  course  of  the  evening  to  believe  as 
she  did,  and  by  the  next  morning  the  magistrate  was 
fully  convinced  of  the  culpability  of  his  cousin. 
Every  one  will  think  the  conduct  of  the  president's 
wife  horrible;  but  under  similar  circumstances  every 
mother  would  imitate  Madame  Camusot.  She  would 
much  rather  sacrifice  the  honor  of  a  stranger  than 
that  of  her  daughter.  The  methods  would  change, 
but  the  object  would  be  the  same. 


The  musician  descended  the  staircase  rapidly;  but 
his  step  was  slow  along  the  boulevards  to  the  the- 
atre, which  he  entered  mechanically;  he  mounted 
his  chair  mechanically,  and  he  directed  mechani- 
cally the  orchestra.  Between  the  acts  he  answered 
Schmucke  so  vaguely  that  the  latter  hid  his  fears; 
he  thought  that  Rons  had  lost  his  mind.  To  a  nature 
so  child-like  as  that  of  Pons,  the  scene  which  had 
just  occurred  took  the  proportions  of  a  catastrophe. 
To  have  aroused  such  a  frightful  hatred,  where 
he  meant  to  bestow  happiness, — it  was  a  total 
overthrow  of  his  existence.  He  had  recognized  in 
the  eyes,  the  gestures,  the  voice,  of  Madame  de  Mar- 
ville,  an  implacable  enmity. 

The  next  day  Madame  Camusot  de  Marville 
reached  a  great  determination,  exacted  by  circum- 
stances, and  in  which  the  president  agreed.  They 
resolved  to  give  Cecile  as  a  dot  the  Marville  estate, 
the  hotel  in  the  Rue  de  Hanovre,  and  one  hundred 
thousand  francs.  In  the  course  of  the  morning,  the 
president's  wife  went  to  call  on  the  Comtesse  Pop- 
inot,  perceiving  plainly  that  the  only  way  to  repair 
such  a  defeat  was  by  an  immediate  marriage.  She 
related  the  shocking  vengeance  and  the  frightful 
deception  perpetrated  by  Pons.  The  story  seemed 
plausible  to  the  Popinots  as  soon  as  they  heard  that 
the  reason  given  for  this  rupture  was  the  character 
(149) 


150  THE   POOR  RELATIONS 

of  an  only  daughter.  In  short,  the  president's  wife 
dwelt  skilfully  on  the  brilliant  advantages  of  being 
styled  Popinot  de  Marville  and  the  enormity  of  the 
dot.  At  the  price  of  land  in  Normandy,  where  it 
brings  in  two  per  cent,  this  estate  represented  about 
nine  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  the  Hotel  of  the 
Rue  de  Hanovre  was  valued  at  two  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand.  No  reasonable  family  could  decline 
such  an  alliance;  therefore,  the  Comte  Popinot  and 
his  wife  accepted  it;  then,  being  interested  in 
the  honor  of  the  family  into  which  they  were 
now  entering,  they  promised  their  concurrence 
in  explaining  the  catastrophe  of  the  previous 
evening. 

Soon  after,  at  the  house  of  the  same  old  Camusot, 
grandfather  of  Cecile,  before  the  same  persons 
who  had  been  there  a  few  days  previously,  and 
before  whom  the  president's  wife  had  chanted  her 
Brunner  litanies,  this  same  president's  wife,  to  whom 
every  one  feared  to  speak,  bravely  took  the  lead  in 
explanations. 

"Really  in  these  days,"  she  said,  "it  would  be 
impossible  to  take  too  many  precautions  in  arrang- 
ing a  marriage,  and  above  all,  when  you  have  to  do 
with  foreigners." 

"Why  so,  madame?" 

"What  has  happened  to  you?"  inquired  Madame 
Chiffreville. 

"You  have  not  heard  of  our  adventure  with 
that  Brunner  who  had  the  audacity  to  aspire  to 
the  hand  of  Cecile? — He  is  the  son  of  a  German 


COUSIN  PONS  151 

inn-keeper,  the  nephew  of  a  dealer  in  rabbit 
skins." 

"Is  it  possible?  and  you  so  cautious!"  said  a 
lady. 

"  These  adventurers  are  so  clever!  But  we  have 
learned  all  through  Berthier.  This  German  has  for 
friend  a  poor  devil  who  plays  the  flute!  He  is  con- 
nected with  a  man  who  keeps  a  common  lodging- 
house  in  the  Rue  du  Mail,  with  some  tailors. — We 
have  learned  that  he  has  led  a  vulgar  life,  and  no 
fortune  would  suffice  to  a  rogue  who  has  already 
squandered  that  of  his  mother — " 

"Well!  mademoiselle,  your  daughter,  would 
have  been  very  unhappy!"  said  Madame  Berthier. 

"  How  did  he  happen  to  be  presented  to  you?" 
inquired  old  Madame  Lebas. 

"  It  was  a  piece  of  revenge  on  the  part  of  M. 
Pons ;  he  presented  this  fine  gentleman  to  us  in 
order  to  overwhelm  us  with  ridicule. — This  Brunner, 
which  means  'fountain,' — he  was  represented  to 
us  as  a  great  lord — is  in  bad  health,  bald,  with  bad 
teeth  ;  so  that  it  was  enough  for  me  to  see  him  only 
once  to  become  suspicious  of  him." 

"  But  that  great  fortune  of  which  you  spoke  to 
me?"  said  a  young  woman  timidly. 

"  The  fortune  is  not  so  large  as  they  said  it  was. 
The  tailors,  the  lodging-house  man,  and  he — have 
scraped  together  all  they  possess  to  start  a  banking- 
house. — What  is  a  banking-house  to-day  when  it 
commences?  A  mere  opportunity  for  ruin.  A  woman 
who  goes  to  bed  a  millionaire  may  wake  up  reduced 


152  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

to  her  own  means.  As  soon  as  he  spoke,  at  the  first 
sight  we  formed  our  opinions  of  this  gentleman,  who 
knows  nothing  of  our  customs.  You  could  see  by 
his  gloves,  by  his  waistcoat,  that  he  was  a  work- 
man, the  son  of  a  German  cook-shop  keeper,  with- 
out nobility  of  feeling,  a  beer  drinker,  and  who 
smokes! — ah,  madame,  fancy!  twenty -five  pipes  a 
day!  What  would  have  been  the  fate  of  my  poor 
Lili! — I  still  shudder  at  it,  but  God  has  preserved  us! 
Moreover,  Cecile  did  not  like  this  man. — Could  we 
have  suspected  such  a  scheme  on  the  part  of  a  rela- 
tive, of  a  constant  visitor  to  our  house,  who  has 
dined  with  us  twice  a  week  for  the  last  twenty 
years!  whom  we  have  loaded  with  benefits  and  who 
kept  up  the  farce  so  well  that  he  actually  announced 
Cecile  as  his  heiress  before  the  keeper  of  the  seals, 
the  procureur  general,  the  first  president! — This 
Brunner  and  M.  Pons  were  in  league  to  make  each 
other  out  as  worth  millions! — No,  I  assure  you,  all  of 
you  ladies,  you  would  have  been  taken  in  by  this 
deception,  planned  as  it  was  by  artists." 

In  a  few  weeks  the  reunited  families  of  Popinot 
and  Camusot  and  their  adherents,  had  won  an  easy 
victory  before  the  world,  for  no  one  took  up  the 
defense  of  the  miserable  Pons,  the  parasite,  the  dis- 
sembler, the  niggard,  the  pretended  good  friend, 
now  buried  under  contempt,  regarded  as  a  viper 
warmed  in  the  bosom  of  families,  like  a  man  of  ex- 
traordinary wickedness,  a  dangerous  buffoon,  to  be 
forgotten  as  soon  as  possible. 

About  a  month  after  the  rejection  of  the  false 


COUSIN  PONS  153 

Werther,  poor  Pons  left  for  the  first  time  his  bed, 
where  he  had  been  lying  a  prey  to  nervous  fever,  and 
walked  slowly  along  the  boulevards  in  the  sun,  lean- 
ing on  the  arm  of  Schmucke.  On  the  Boulevard  du 
Temple  nobody  any  longer  laughed  at  the  two  Nut- 
crackers, at  the  aspect  of  destruction  in  one  and  of 
the  touching  solicitude  of  the  other  for  his  convales- 
cent friend.  By  the  time  they  had  reached  the 
Boulevard  Poissonniere,  Pons  had  recovered  a  little 
color  as  he  breathed  the  atmosphere  of  the  boule- 
vards where  the  air  has  such  a  stimulating  quality; 
for  wherever  a  crowd  congregates  this  fluid  is  so  life- 
giving  that  in  Rome  the  absence  of  mala  aria  has  been 
remarked  in  the  filthy  Ghetto  swarming  with  Jews. 
Perhaps  also,  the  sight  of  that  which  heretofore  gave 
him  daily  pleasure,  the  grand  spectacle  of  Paris, 
may  have  had  its  effect  upon  the  invalid.  In  front 
of  the  Theatre  des  Varietes,  Pons  left  Schmucke, 
for  they  had  been  walking  side  by  side;  but  the 
convalescent  quitted  his  friend  from  time  to  time  to 
examine  the  novelties  freshly  exhibited  in  the  shop- 
windows.  He  came  suddenly  face  to  face  with 
Comte  Popinot  whom  he  greeted  in  the  most 
respectful  manner,  the  former  minister  being  one  of 
those  men  whom  Pons  esteemed  and  venerated  most. 
"Ah,  monsieur,"  said  the  peer  of  France  se- 
verely, "I  am  unable  to  understand  how  you  could 
have  so  little  tact  as  to  bow  to  a  person  allied  to  the 
family  you  have  attempted  to  cover  with  shame  and 
ridicule  by  a  revenge  which  none  but  an  artist  could 
have  concocted. — Know,  monsieur,  that  from  this 


154  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

day  forth  you  and  I  are  complete  strangers  to  each 
other.  Madame  la  Comtesse  Popinot  shares  the 
indignation  with  which  the  world  regards  your  con- 
duct to  the  Marvilles." 

The  former  minister  passed  on,  leaving  Pons 
overwhelmed.  Never  do  the  passions  of  men,  nor 
justice,  nor  politics,  never  do  the  great  social  powers 
consider  the  state  of  the  being  whom  they  strike. 
The  statesman,  driven  by  family  interest,  to  crush 
Pons,  had  not  observed  the  physical  weakness  of 
that  redoubtable  enemy. 

"  Vat  ees  der  madder,  mein  boor  frent?"  asked 
Schmucke,  growing  as  pale  as  his  friend  himself. 

"I  have  just  received  another  stroke  with  the 
dagger,  in  the  heart,"  replied  the  old  man,  support- 
ing himself  on  Schmucke's  arm.  "  I  believe  that  no 
one  but  the  good  God  has  the  right  to  do  good,  that 
is  why  those  who  meddle  with  His  work  are  so 
cruelly  punished." 

This  sarcasm  of  an  artist  was  a  supreme  effort  on 
the  part  of  the  excellent  creature  who  wished  to 
chase  away  the  terror  which  he  saw  on  the  face  of 
his  friend. 

"I  dink  zo,"  replied  Schmucke,  simply. 

All  this  was  incomprehensible  to  Pons,  to  whom 
neither  the  Camusots  nor  the  Popinots  had  sent 
any  information  of  Cecile's  marriage.  On  the 
Boulevard  des  Italiens,  Pons  saw  coming  towards 
him  Monsieur  Cardot.  Warned  by  the  allocution 
of  the  peer  of  France,  he  was  careful  not  to  stop  this 
personage  with  whom,  for  a  year  past,  he  dined  every 


COUSIN  PONS  155 

fortnight,  and  merely  bowed  to  him;  but  the  mayor, 
the  deputy  of  Paris,  looked  at  Pons  with  an  indig- 
nant air,  without  returning  his  salutation. 

"  Go  and  ask  him  what  it  is  they  have  against 
me,"  said  the  old  man  to  Schmucke,  who  knew  in 
all  its  details  the  catastrophe  that  had  happened  to 
Pons. 

"  Mennesir,"  said  Schmucke  to  Cardot,  diplomat- 
ically, "  mein  frent  Bons  ees  regovered  from  an  eel- 
ness  ant  zo  berhaps  you  gannot  regognize  heem." 

"I  recognize  him  perfectly." 

"  Denn  vot  haf  you  all  against  heem?" 

"You  have  for  friend  a  monster  of  ingratitude,  a 
man  who,  if  he  still  lives,  it  is  because,  as  the 
proverb  says,  '  ill  weeds  thrive  in  spite  of  every- 
thing.' The  world  has  good  reason  to  be  mistrust- 
ful of  artists,  they  are  malicious  and  spiteful  as 
monkeys.  Your  friend  endeavored  to  dishonor  his 
own  family,  to  destroy  the  reputation  of  a  young 
girl,  in  revenge  for  a  harmless  jest.  I  do  not  wish 
to  have  the  slightest  relation  with  him  ;  I  shall 
endeavor  to  forget  that  I  have  ever  known  him,  that 
he  even  exists.  These  sentiments,  monsieur,  are 
those  of  all  my  family,  of  his,  and  of  all  those 
persons  who  formerly  offered  to  the  Sieur  Pons  the 
honor  of  receiving  him  in  their  houses — " 

"  Bud,  mennesir,  you  are  ein  reazonaple  man  ;  zo 
eef  you  vill  bermit  me  I  vill  exblain  der  madder  for 
you — " 

"Remain  his  friend  yourself,  monsieur,  if  you 
can  still  find  it  in  your  heart  to  do  so.  It  is  free  to 


156  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

you,"  replied  Cardot ;  "but  go  no  further,  for  I 
warn  you  that  I  shall  include  in  the  same  condem- 
nation all  those  who  endeavor  to  excuse  him  and  to 
defend  him." 

"  I  joustivy  heem?" 

"Yes,  for  his  conduct  is  unjustifiable  as  it  cannot 
be  qualified." 

With  these  sentiments,  the  deputy  of  the  Seine 
continued  his  route  without  wishing  to  hear  another 
syllable. 

"  I  have  already  the  two  powers  of  the  State 
against  me, "said  poor  Pons, smiling, when Schmucke 
had  related  to  him  the  savage  denunciation. 

"Eferyding  ees  against  us,"  answered  Schmucke 
mournfully.  "  Led  us  go  home;  zo  vill  ve  meed  no 
more  vools." 

It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life,  truly  lamb-like,  that 
Schmucke  had  ever  uttered  such  words.  Never  had 
his  meekness,  almost  divine,  before  been  troubled; 
he  would  have  smiled  simply  at  every  misfortune  that 
had  happened  to  him;  but  to  see  his  sublime  Pons 
ill-treated,  that  unrecognized  Aristides,  that  modest 
genius,  that  soul  without  bitterness,  that  treasure  of 
loving  kindness,  that  heart  of  pure  gold! — He  felt  all 
the  indignation  of  Alceste,  and  he  called  the  amphi- 
tryons  of  Pons  "fools!"  In  his  placid  nature  such 
emotion  was  equivalent  to  all  the  furies  of  Roland. 
With  wise  precaution  he  now  made  Pons  return  to- 
ward the  Boulevard  du  Temple;  and  Pons  allowed 
himself  to  be  led;  for  the  sick  man  was  now  in  the 
condition  of  those  wrestlers  who  can  no  longer  count 


COUSIN  PONS  157 

the  blows.  Fate,  however,  willed  that  nothing 
should  be  lacking  in  the  world  to  the  calamity  of 
the  poor  musician.  The  avalanche  that  rolled  over 
him  was  to  contain  everything, — the  Chamber  of 
Peers,  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  his  family, 
strangers,  the  strong,  the  weak,  and  the  innocent! 

On  the  Boulevard  Poissonniere,  in  returning 
home,  Pons  saw  coming  toward  him,  the  daughter 
of  this  same  M.  Cardot,  a  young  woman  who  had 
gone  through  enough  trouble  of  her  own  to  make 
her  merciful.  Guilty  of  a  fault  kept  secret, 
she  had  made  herself  the  slave  of  her  husband. 
Of  all  the  mistresses  in  the  houses  in  which  he 
dined,  Madame  Berthier  was  the  only  one  whom 
Pons  ventured  to  address  by  her  Christian  name; 
he  called  her  "  Felicie,"  and  sometimes  fancied  that 
she  really  understood  him.  This  gentle  creature 
seemed  annoyed  at  meeting  her  cousin  Pons;  for, 
notwithstanding  the  absence  of  any  relationship 
with  the  family  of  the  second  wife  of  his  cousin,  the 
old  Camusot,  he  was  always  treated  as  cousin.  Not 
being  able  to  avoid  him,  Felicie  Berthier  stopped 
short  before  the  dying  man. 

"  I  do  not  think  you  wicked,  my  cousin,  but  if  a 
quarter  only  of  what  I  have  heard  is  true,  you  are  a 
base  man. — Oh!  don't  defend  yourself,"  she  added 
hastily,  seeing  Pons  make  a  gesture.  "It  is  useless 
for  two  reasons:  the  first  is  that  I  have  no  right  to 
accuse,  nor  to  judge,  nor  to  condemn  any  one,  know- 
ing in  myself  that  those  who  seem  to  be  the  most 
to  blame  have  excuses  to  offer;  secondly,  because 


158  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

your  reasons  will  do  no  good.  M.  Berthier,  who  has 
drawn  up  the  marriage-contract  between  Mademoi- 
selle de  Marville  and  the  Vicomte  Popinot,  is  so  irri- 
tated against  you  that  if  he  knew  that  I  had  said  a 
single  word  to  you,  though  it  were  for  the  last  time, 
he  would  rebuke  me.  Every  one  is  against  you." 

"  I  see  it  very  plainly,  madame,"  answered,  in  a 
broken  voice,  the  poor  old  musician,  bowing  respect- 
fully to  the  notary's  wife. 

And  he  resumed  painfully  his  road  to  the  Rue  de 
Normandie,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Schmucke  so 
heavily  as  to  betray  to  the  old  German  his  physical 
weakness,  bravely  combated.  This  third  encounter 
was  like  the  judgment  pronounced  by  the  Lamb 
which  lies  at  the  feet  of  God;  the  wrath  of  that 
angel  of  the  poor,  the  symbol  of  the  people,  is  the 
last  word  of  heaven.  The  two  friends  reached 
home  without  having  exchanged  a  word.  In  certain 
circumstances  of  life  we  can  do  no  more  than  feel  a 
friend  at  our  side.  Spoken  consolation  irritates  the 
wound,  it  reveals  its  depths.  The  old  pianist  had,  as 
we  have  seen,  the  genius  of  friendship,  the  delicacy 
of  those  who  have  suffered  much,  who  know  the 
habits  of  that  suffering. 


This  promenade  was  to  be  the  last  ever  taken  by 
the  worthy  Rons.  The  sick  man  fell  from  one  illness 
into  another.  Naturally  of  a  bilious-sanguine  tem- 
perament, the  bile  now  passed  into  his  blood  and  he 
was  seized  with  a  violent  inflammation  of  the  liver. 
These  two  successive  attacks  being  the  only  illnesses 
of  his  life,  he  knew  no  doctor;  and  with  an  intention 
that  was  excellent  in  the  first  instance,  and  even 
maternal,  the  sensible  and  devoted  Madame  Cibot 
called  in  the  doctor  of  the  quarter.  At  Paris,  in 
every  "quarter,"  there  is  a  doctor  whose  name  and 
residence  are  unknown  to  any  but  the  lower  class, 
the  small  bourgeois,  the  concierges,  and  who  is  con- 
sequently known  as  the  doctor  of  the  quarter.  This 
physician  who  attends  to  childbirths  and  to  bleeding 
the  neighborhood,  is  in  medicine  that  which  is  in  the 
"  Petites  Affiches"  the  domestique  pour  tout  faire, 
the  servant  of  all  work.  Compelled  to  be  good  to 
the  poor  and  sufficiently  expert  by  reason  of  his  long 
practice,  he  is  generally  beloved.  Doctor  Poulain, 
brought  to  the  sick  man  by  Madame  Cibot,  and 
recognized  by  Schmucke,  listened  without  paying 
much  attention  to  the  complaints  of  the  old  musician, 
who  had  passed  the  night  in  scratching  his  skin, 
which  had  become  insensible  to  the  touch.  The 
state  of  the  eyes,  suffused  with  yellow,  was  in 
keeping  with  this  symptom. 
(159) 


160  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"  You  have  had  within  the  last  two  days  some 
great  trouble,"  said  the  doctor  to  his  patient. 

"Alas!  yes,"  answered  Pons. 

"  You  have  the  disease  which  monsieur  here  has 
just  escaped,"  said  the  doctor,  pointing  to  Schmucke; 
"the  jaundice,  but  it  will  not  amount  to  anything," 
he  added,  writing  a  prescription. 

Notwithstanding  this  last  word,  so  consoling,  the 
doctor  had  given  the  sick  man  one  of  those  Hippo- 
cratic  glances  in  which  the  sentence  of  death, 
although  concealed  under  the  customary  commisera- 
tion, may  be  always  divined  by  those  eyes  which 
are  interested  in  knowing  the  truth.  Thus  Madame 
Cibot,  who  darted  a  searching  glance  into  the  eyes 
of  the  doctor,  was  not  misled  by  the  tone  of  the 
professional  words  nor  by  the  deceptive  physiog- 
nomy of  Doctor  Poulain,  and  she  followed  him 
when  he  left  the  room. 

"Do  you  really  think  it  will  be  nothing?"  she 
said  to  the  doctor  on  the  landing. 

"My  dear  Madame  Cibot,  your  monsieur  is  a  dead 
man,  not  because  of  the  invasion  of  his  blood  by 
his  bile,  but  because  of  his  moral  feebleness.  How- 
ever, with  a  great  deal  of  care,  your  sick  man  might 
still  pull  through;  he  would  have  to  be  taken  away 
from  here,  to  be  induced  to  travel — " 

"And  on  what?"  said  the  concierge.  "He  has  no 
money  but  his  salary,  and  his  friend  lives  on  a  bit 
of  an  annuity  which  some  great  ladies  have  given 
him,  to  whom  he  has,  it  is  understood,  done  some 
service, — some  very  charitable  ladies.  They  are 


COUSIN  PONS  l6l 

only  two  children  whom  I  have  taken  care  of  for  the 
last  nine  years." 

"  I  have  spent  my  life  in  seeing  people  die,  not  of 
their  illnesses,  but  of  that  great  and  incurable  wound, 
the  want  of  money.  In  how  many  garrets  have  I 
been  obliged,  far  from  being  paid  for  my  visit,  to 
leave  a  hundred  sous  on  the  mantelpiece! — " 

"Poor,  dear  Monsieur  Poulain,"  said  Madame 
Cibot.  "Ah!  if  you  had  only  got  the  one  hundred 
thousand  livres  of  income  of  some  of  the  skinflints 
of  this  quarter,  who  are  nothing  better  nor  devils 
let  loose,  you  would  be  the  very  image  of  the  good 
God  on  earth!" 

The  doctor  who,  thanks  to  the  good  will  of  MM.  the 
concierges  of  his  arrondissement,  had  succeeded  in 
getting  together  a  little  practice  which  scarcely  suf- 
ficed his  needs,  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven  and  thanked 
Madame  Cibot  with  an  expression  worthy  of  Tar- 
tuff  e. 

"  You  say,  then,  my  dear  M.  Poulain,  that  with  a 
great  deal  of  care,  our  patient  may  get  over  it?" 

"  Yes,  if  he  is  not  too  much  affected  in  his  moral 
system  by  the  trouble  which  he  has  experienced." 

"  Poor  man,  what  can  have  troubled  him?  There 
ain't  no  better  than  he,  who  has  no  equal  on  earth 
except  his  friend,  M.  Schmucke! — I'll  find  out  what's 
upset  him!  and  it's  I  who  will  see  that  they  get  well 
drubbed  who  have  bled  my  gentleman — " 

"  Listen  to  me,  my  dear  Madame  Cibot,"  said  the 
doctor,  who  was  now  on  the  step  of  the  porte 
cochere,  "  one  of  the  chief  symptoms  of  the  disease 
iz 


162  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

your  gentleman  has  is  a  constant  anxiety  about 
mere  nothings,  and  as  it  is  not  likely  that  he  can 
have  a  nurse,  it  is  you  who  will  have  to  take  care  of 
him.  Therefore — " 

"  Eet  ees  of  Moucheu  Ponche  zat  you  speek?" 
asked  the  dealer  in  old  iron-work,  who  was  smoking 
his  pipe. 

And  he  rose  from  his  seat  on  the  door-step  to 
take  part  in  the  conversation  of  the  concierge  and 
the  doctor. 

"Yes,  Papa  Remonencq,"  replied  Madame  Cibot 
to  the  Auvergnat. 

"Vel,  then,  he  is  more  riche  than  Moucheu  Mon- 
ichtrolle  and  all  ze  uzzer  curiochite  men.  I  knows 
enough  about  these  artistique  zings  to  tell  you  zat 
ze  tear  man  has  much  richeness!" 

"Goodness!  I  thought  you  were  making  fun  of 
me  the  other  day  when  I  showed  you  all  them  an- 
tiquities while  my  gentlemen  were  out,"  said  Mad- 
ame Cibot  to  Remonencq. 

At  Paris,  where  the  pavements  have  ears,  and  the 
doors  have  tongues,  and  the  window-shutters  eyes, 
nothing  is  more  dangerous  than  to  talk  in  a  porte 
cochere.  The  last  words  exchanged  there,  and 
which  are  to  the  conversation  what  a  postscript  is 
to  a  letter,  contain  indiscretions  as  dangerous  for 
those  who  let  them  be  heard  as  for  those  who  hear 
them.  A  single  example  will  suffice  to  corroborate 
that  case  which  this  history  presents. 

One  day,  one  of  the  chief  hair-dressers  in  the 
days  of  the  Empire,  a  period  when  people  bestowed 


COUSIN  PONS  163 

much  care  upon  their  hair,  issued  from  a  house 
in  which  he  had  just  been  dressing  the  hair  of  a 
pretty  woman,  and  in  which  he  had  the  custom  of 
all  the  rich  tenants.  Among  these  flourished  an  old 
bachelor,  protected  by  an  old  housekeeper,  who  de- 
tested all  the  heirs  of  her  gentleman.  The  ci-devant 
young  man  fell  seriously  ill,  and  became  the  subject 
of  a  consultation  of  all  the  most  famous  physicians, 
who  did  not  as  yet  call  themselves  "  the  princes  of 
science."  Leaving  the  house  accidentally  at  the 
same  time  as  the  hair-dresser,  these  doctors,  in  bid- 
ding each  other  good-bye  on  the  step  of  the  porte 
cochere,  were  talking  truth  and  science  openly,  as 
they  do  between  themselves  when  the  farce  of  the 
consultation  is  over.  "He  is  a  dead  man,"  said 
Doctor  Haudry.  "He  has  not  a  month  to  live," 
added  Desplein,  "unless  indeed  by  a  miracle."  The 
hair-dresser  heard  these  words.  Like  all  hair- 
dressers, he  had  an  understanding  with  the  servants. 
Impelled  by  a  monstrous  cupidity,  he  remounted 
promptly  to  the  apartments  of  the  old  bachelor,  and 
he  promised  to  the  servant-mistress  a  very  hand- 
some premium  if  she  could  decide  her  master  to 
invest  the  greater  part  of  his  fortune  in  an  annuity. 
In  the  property  of  this  dying  old  bachelor,  who  had 
seen  fifty-six  years, — and  who  might  have  counted 
them  double  because  of  his  amorous  campaigns, — 
there  was  a  magnificent  house  situated  in  the  Rue 
de  Richelieu,  worth  at  that  time  about  two  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs.  This  house,  the  object 
of  the  covetousness  of  the  hair-dresser,  was  sold  to 


164  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

him  for  an  annuity  of  thirty  thousand  francs.  AH 
this  took  place  in  1806.  The  hair-dresser,  retired 
from  business,  now  a  septuagenarian,  is  still  paying 
the  annuity  in  1846,  as  the  ci-devant  young  man  is 
now  ninety-six,  is  quite  childish,  and  has  married 
his  Madame  £vrard,  and  may  last  a  long  time  yet. 
The  hair-dresser  having  given  thirty  thousand  francs 
to  the  servant,  finds  that  this  piece  of  landed  prop- 
erty has  cost  him  over  a  million;  but  the  house 
to-day  is  worth  from  eight  to  nine  hundred  thousand 
francs. 

In  imitation  of  this  hair-dresser,  the  Auvergnat 
had  overheard  the  last  words  said  by  Brunner  and 
Pons  on  the  steps  of  his  doorway,  the  day  of  the 
interview  of  the  fiance  phoenix  with  Cecile;  he  had 
therefore  conceived  the  desire  to  see  Pons's  museum. 
As  he  lived  on  good  terms  with  the  Cibots,  he 
was  soon  afterward  introduced  into  the  apartment 
of  the  two  friends  during  their  absence.  Dazzled 
by  such  treasures,  he  saw  a  coup  &  monter,  which 
means  in  dealer's  slang,  "a  fortune  to  steal,"  and 
he  had  been  thinking  over  this  project  for  the  last 
five  or  six  days. 

"I  do  not  choke,"  he  replied  to  Madame  Cibot 
and  the  doctor.  "  Let  us  talk  apout  it,  and  eef  this 
goot  chentleman  would  like  an  annooity  of  fifty 
thousand  franques,  I  vil  go  you  a  hamber  of  wine 
eef  you — " 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  said  the  doctor  to 
Remonencq,  "fifty  thousand  francs  annuity! — But 
if  the  good  man  is  as  rich  as  that,  is  doctored  by 


COUSIN  PONS  165 

me,  and  cared  for  by  Madame  Cibot,  he  may  get 
well — for  liver  complaints  are  the  inconvenient  ac- 
companiments of  every  good  constitution — " 

"  Dit  I  say  fifty?  Vhy  a  chentleman  on  those 
very  stebs  that  you  are  standing  on  brobosed  to  bay 
him  a  hundret  and  fifty  tousand  franques,  and  that 
for  the  bictures  alone,  py  tarn!" 

Hearing  this  assertion  of  Remonencq,  Madame 
Cibot  looked  at  Doctor  Poulain  with  a  strange 
expression.  The  devil  lit  up  a  sinister  fire  in  her 
orange-colored  eyes. 

"Come,  do  not  let  us  listen  to  such  idle  tales," 
said  the  doctor,  sufficiently  pleased  to  know  that  his 
patient  would  be  able  to  pay  for  all  the  visits  that 
he  might  make  to  him. 

"Moucheu  le  doucteurre,  eef  my  tear  Madame 
Chibot,  now  that  the  chentleman  is  in  his  bet,  will  let 
me  pring  an  egspairt  to  eggsamine  the  arteecles,  I 
am  zhure  that  I  could  fmt  tee  moneys  in  two  hours, 
even  eef  it  comes  to  tees  hundret  and  fifty  thous- 
and franques — " 

"Good,  my  friend!"  said  the  doctor.  "  Be  sure, 
Madame  Cibot,  to  be  careful  not  to  contradict  the 
sick  man;  you  will  have  to  be  very  patient,  for 
everything  will  irritate  him  and  fatigue  him,  even 
your  attentions;  you  must  make  up  your  mind  that 
nothing  will  please  him — " 

"  It  will  be  mighty  difficult,"  said  the  concierge. 

"See  here,  listen  to  me,"  resumed  the  doctor, 
with  an  authoritative  air,  "the  life  of  M.  Rons  is  in 
the  hands  of  those  who  take  care  of  him;  therefore 


166  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

I  shall  come  and  see  him  perhaps  twice  every  day. 
I  shall  commence  my  rounds  here — " 

The  doctor  had  suddenly  passed  from  the  profound 
indifference  which  he  felt  for  the  fate  of  his  sick 
poor  to  a  solicitude  the  most  tender,  as  he  recognized 
the  possibility  of  the  wealth  so  much  insisted  upon 
by  the  speculative  dealer. 

"He  shall  be  taken  care  of  like  a  king,"  replied 
Madame  Cibot  with  a  sham  enthusiasm. 

The  concierge  waited  until  the  doctor  had  turned 
the  corner  of  the  Rue  Chariot  before  resuming  the 
conversation  with  Remonencq.  The  dealer  in  iron 
was  finishing  his  pipe,  his  back  supported  against 
the  casing  of  the  door  of  his  shop.  He  had  not 
taken  this  position  without  design;  he  wished  to 
compel  her  to  come  to  him. 


This  shop,  formerly  used  as  a  cafe,  remained 
just  as  it  was  when  the  Auvergnat  first  hired  it 
The  words  "Cafe  de  Normandie,"  might  still  be 
read  on  the  long  sign  which  is  placed  above  the 
windows  in  all  modern  shops.  The  Auvergnat  had 
had  painted,  probably  gratuitously,  with  a  brush 
and  some  black  paint  by  some  house-painter's  ap- 
prentice, in  the  space  which  was  left  under  the 
name  "Cafe  de  Normandie," — "Remonencq,  dealer 
in  old  ironware,  buys  second-hand  merchandise." 
Of  course  the  mirrors,  the  tables,  the  stools,  the 
sideboards,  all  the  furniture  of  the  Cafe  de  Nor- 
mandie, had  been  sold.  Remonencq  had  hired  for 
six  hundred  francs  a  shop  completely  empty,  the 
back  shop,  a  kitchen,  and  a  single  chamber  in  the 
entresol,  where  the  head-waiter  had  formerly  slept, 
for  the  apartments  dependent  upon  the  Cafe  de  Nor- 
mandie were  situated  elsewhere.  Of  the  primitive 
luxury  once  displayed  by  the  restaurant-keeper, 
nothing  remained  but  a  plain,  light-green  paper  on 
the  walls  of  the  shop,  and  the  strong  iron  bars  and 
bolts  of  the  shop  window. 

Established  here  in  1831,  after  the  Revolution  of 
July,  Remonencq  commenced  by  displaying  cracked 
bells,  dented  pans,  old  iron-work,  ancient  scales, 
the  out-of-date  weights,  now  discarded  by  the  law 
relating  to  the  new  weights  and  measures, — which 
(167) 


1 68  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  government  alone  does   not  obey,  for   it  still 
leaves  in  circulation  one  and  two-sou  pieces  which 
date  from  the    reign    of  Louis   XVI.     Then  this 
Auvergnat,   of  the  capacity    of    five   Auvergnats, 
bought  kitchen  utensils,   old  frames,  old   brasses, 
chipped  porcelains.     Gradually,  by  dint  of  empty- 
ing and  replenishing,  the  shop  had  grown  to  resem- 
ble the  farces    of    Nicolet,   the   character   of  the 
merchandise  had  improved.      The  iron   merchant 
followed  that  prodigious  and  sure  game  of  doubling 
his  effects  at  each  deal,  so  that  the  result  soon  man- 
ifested itself  to  the  eyes  of  those   loungers  suffi- 
ciently philosophical  to  study  the  progressive  growth 
in  value  of  the  articles  which  garnish  these  intelli- 
gent shops.      To  the  tinned  iron,  to  the  argand 
lamps,  to  the  potsherds,  succeed  brasses  and  frames. 
After  these  come  porcelains.     Soon  the  shop,  tem- 
porarily changed  into  a  crout'eum,  i.  e.,  filled  with 
wretched  paintings,  develops  into  a  museum.     Fi- 
nally, one  day,  the  dusty  window-panes  are  cleaned, 
the  interior   is  restored,  the  Auvergnat  abandons 
his  velveteen    and    his    waistcoat,   and   takes  to 
wearing  coats!  he  is  to  be  seen  like  a  dragon  guard- 
ing his  treasures;   he   is  surrounded   by  master- 
pieces, he  has  grown  to  be  a  keen  connoisseur,  he 
has  increased  his  capital  ten-fold,  and  can  no  longer 
betaken  in  by  any  trick;  he  knows  all  the  prac- 
tices of  the  trade.     The  monster  is  there,  like  an 
old  woman,  in  the  middle  of  twenty  young  girls 
whom  she  offers  to  the  public.    The  beauty,  the  mira- 
cles of  art,  are  nothing  to  this  man,  at  once  gross 


COUSIN  PONS  169 

and  cultivated,  who  calculates  his  profits  and  im- 
poses on  the  ignorant  He  becomes  a  comedian ; 
he  affects  attachment  to  his  canvases,  to  his  mar- 
quetries, or  he  feigns  poverty,  or  he  invents  cost 
prices  and  offers  to  show  the  bill  of  sale.  He  is  a 
Proteus,  he  is  in  the  same  hour  Jocrisse,  Janot, 
merry-andrew,  or  Mondor,  or  Harpagon,  or  Nico- 
demus. 

In  the  course  of  the  third  year,  there  might  be 
seen  in  Remonencq's  shop,  handsome  clocks,  armor, 
and  old  pictures ;  and  he  caused  his  establishment 
to  be  guarded  during  his  absences  by  a  stout 
woman,  excessively  ugly,  his  sister,  who  had  come 
from  his  own  country  on  foot,  at  his  request  The 
female  Remonencq,  a  species  of  idiot,  with  a  vague 
eye,  and  dressed  like  a  Japanese  idol,  never  abated 
one  centime  of  the  price  which  her  brother  in- 
structed her  to  ask;  she  also  took  charge  of  the 
housekeeping,  and  solved  the  problem,  apparently 
insoluble,  of  sustaining  life  solely  on  the  fogs  of  the 
Seine.  Remonencq  and  his  sister  lived  on  bread 
and  herrings,  on  pickings,  on  the  scraps  of  vegeta- 
bles gathered  out  of  the  waste  stuff  left  by  the 
restaurant  keepers  at  the  corners  of  their  premises. 
For  both,  they  did  not  spend,  bread  included,  more 
than  twelve  sous  a  day,  and  the  woman  sewed  or 
spun  to  earn  them. 

This  development  of  a  business  in  the  case  of 
Remonencq,  who  originally  came  to  Paris  to  be  a 
public  messenger  and  who  from  1825  to  1831  ran 
errands  for  the  curiosity-dealers  of  the  Boulevard 


170  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Beaumarchais  and  the  coppersmiths  of  the  Rue  de 
Lappe,  is  the  normal  history  of  most  of  the  bric-a- 
brac  dealers.  The  Jews,  the  Normans,  the  Auver- 
gnats,  the  Savoyards — these  four  races  of  men  have 
the  same  instincts,  they  make  their  fortunes  by  the 
same  means.  To  spend  nothing,  to  gain  by  slight 
profits,  and  to  accumulate  interest  and  profits,  such 
is  their  code,  and  this  code  has  now  become  a 
charter. 

At  this  period,  Remonencq,  reconciled  with  his 
former  employer,  Monistrol,  having  connection  with 
the  important  dealers,  devoted  himself  to  chiner 
— which  is  the  technical  slang — in  the  suburbs  of 
Paris,  which,  as  you  know,  cover  a  radius  of  some 
forty  leagues.  After  fourteen  years  of  such  traffic, 
he  was  possessed  of  a  fortune  of  sixty  thousand 
francs  and  a  shop  very  well  filled.  His  varying 
profits  in  the  Rue  de  Normandie  were  few,  but  the 
lowness  of  the  rent  retained  him  there;  he  sold  his 
gatherings  to  the  larger  dealers,  and  was  satisfied 
with  a  moderate  profit  All  his  business  was  trans- 
acted in  the  Auvergne  patois,  called  charabia.  This 
man  nourished  a  dream !  He  desired  to  be  able  to 
establish  himself  on  the  boulevards;  he  wished  to 
become  a  rich  dealer  in  curiosities,  and  to  come 
directly  in  contact  with  the  amateurs.  He  had  it 
in  him,  moreover,  to  become  a  redoubtable  trader. 
His  face  was  always  covered  with  a  dusty  coating 
produced  by  iron  filings  mixed  with  perspiration, 
for  he  did  everything  himself;  this  rendered  his 
physiognomy  all  the  more  inscrutable,  as  the  habit 


COUSIN  PONS  171 

of  physical  endurance  had  endowed  with  a  stoic 
impassibility  the  old  soldiers  of  1799.  In  person, 
Remonencq  was  a  short,  thin  man,  whose  little 
eyes,  set  in  his  head  like  those  of  a  pig,  re- 
vealed in  their  cold  blue  the  concentrated  greed, 
the  craftiness  of  the  Jews,  without  their  apparent 
humility,  which  covers  the  profound  contempt  they 
feel  for  Christians. 

The  relations  between  the  Cibots  and  the 
Remonencqs  were  those  of  benefactor  and  bene- 
ficiary. Madame  Cibot,  convinced  of  the  excessive 
poverty  of  the  Auvergnats,  sold  to  them  at  ridiculous 
prices  the  remnants  from  the  tables  of  Schmucke 
and  Cibot  Remonencq  paid  for  a  pound  of  dried 
crusts  and  crumbs  of  bread,  two  centimes  and  a  half, 
and  one  centime  and  a  half  for  a  pan  of  potatoes, 
etc.  The  crafty  Remonencq  was  supposed  to  do  no 
business  on  his  own  account  He  always  claimed 
to  represent  Monistrol,  and  declared  that  he  was  a 
prey  to  the  rich  dealers;  consequently  the  Cibots 
sincerely  pitied  the  Remonencqs.  In  eleven  years 
the  Auvergnat  had  never  worn  out  the  velveteen 
jacket,  the  velveteen  trousers,  and  the  velveteen 
waistcoat  which  he  regularly  wore ;  but  these  three 
garments,  sacred  to  Auvergnats,  were  riddled  with 
patches  put  in  gratis  by  Cibot  As  may  be  seen, 
all  Jews  are  not  Israelites. 

"Weren't  you  making  fun  of  me,  Remonencq," 
said  the  concierge,  "could  it  be  that  M.  Pons  has 
such  a  fortune  and  live  the  life  he  does?  He  has 
not  one  hundred  francs  about  him ! — " 


1 72  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Amateurs  are  always  like,  zat,"  answered 
Remonencq  sententiously. 

"You  don't  believe,  not  really,  that  my  gentle- 
man has  got  seven  hundred  thousand  francs?" 

"Nootheengs  less  zan  zat  in  the  pictures  alone. 
He's  got  one  of  zem  zat  I'd  pay  him  feefty  dhous- 
and  franquesfor,  even  eef  eet  strangled  me  to  do  eet. 
You  know  zose  leetle  prass  frames  enamelled  with 
red  velvet  eenside  them,  in  which  aire  bortraits? 
Vary  well,  zey  aire  enamels  by  Petitotte,  zat  Mou- 
cheu  le  Minichtre  du  Gouvarnemente,  who  was  once 
a  druccist,  pays  one  dhousand  crowns  apiece  for." 

"There  are  thirty  of  them  in  the  two  frames!" 
said  the  concierge,  with  her  eyes  dilating. 

"Vary  well,  you  can  chudge  zen  yoursalf  of  hees 
dreasure!" 

Madame  Cibot,  seized  with  dizziness,  turned 
round  about  She  conceived  in  that  moment  the 
idea  of  worming  herself  into  the  testament  of  the 
worthy  Pons,  in  imitation  of  those  servant-mis- 
tresses whose  annuities  had  excited  so  much  cupidity 
in  the  quarter  of  the  Marais.  Already  she  saw  her- 
self living  in  the  commune,  in  the  suburbs  of  Paris, 
strutting  about  in  a  country-house,  where  she  looked 
after  her  poultry-yard  and  her  garden,  and  where  she 
would  finish  her  days  served  like  a  queen,  as  well 
as  her  poor  Cibot,  who  deserved  so  much  happiness, 
as  do  all  neglected  and  misinterpreted  angels. 

In  the  abrupt  and  involuntary  movement  of 
Madame  Cibot,  Remonencq  saw  a  certainty  of  suc- 
cess. In  the  trade  of  the  chineur — such  is  the  slang 


COUSIN  PONS  173 

name  for  the  collectors  of  second-hand  treasures, 
from  the  verb  chiner,  to  go  in  quest  of  old  things, 
and  to  drive  sharp  bargains  with  their  ignorant  pos- 
sessors ; — in  this  trade  the  first  difficulty  is  to  get 
into  houses.  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  all  the  ruses 
a  la  Scapin,  the  tricks  a  la  Sganarelle,  and  the  se- 
ductions a  la  Dorine  which  the  chineurs  invent  in 
order  to  enter  the  house  of  the  bourgeois.  It  is  a 
comedy  worthy  of  the  theatre,  and  is  always  based, 
as  in  this  case,  on  the  rapacity  of  servants.  For 
thirty  pieces  of  silver  or  a  few  wares,  servants,  and 
above  all,  those  in  the  country  or  in  provincial 
towns,  will  help  the  chineur  to  bargains  which  often 
bring  him  in  a  profit  of  one  thousand  or  two  thous- 
and francs.  There  is  a  certain  service  of  old 
Sevres,  pate  tendre,  whose  capture,  if  related, 
would  equal  all  the  diplomatic  craftiness  of  the 
Congress  of  Munster,  all  of  the  intelligence  dis- 
played at  Nimeguen,  Utrecht,  Ryswick,  or  Vienna, 
— which  indeed  is  often  surpassed  by  the  chineurs, 
whose  comedy  is  far  more  frank  than  that  of  the 
diplomatists.  The  chineurs  have  means  of  action 
which  dive  quite  as  deeply  into  the  depths  of  per- 
sonal interest  as  those  so  laboriously  sought  for  by 
ambassadors,  to  break  up  the  most  solid  alliances. 

"I  vinely  stirred  upzat  Chibot  woman,"  said  the 
brother  to  the  sister,  as  she  returned  to  take  her 
place  on  a  broken  straw  chair;  "and  now  I  am 
going  to  gonsult  ze  only  man  who  ees  up  to  such 
dings, — our  Chew,  a  goot  Chew,  who  won't  douch 
anyding  under  feefteen  per  chent" 


Remonencq  had  read  Madame  Cibot's  hear_t__Jn_ 
women  of  her  character,  to  will  is  to  act;  they  stick 
at  nothing  to  attain  success;  they  pass  instantane- 
ously from  the  strictest  integrity  to  the  most  fla- 
grant dishonesty.  Honesty,  like  all  our  other 
sentiments,  for  that  matter,  must  be  divided  into 
two  honesties — a  positive  and  a  negative  honesty. 
The  negative  honesty  is  that  of  the  Cibots,  who 
are  upright  so  long  as  they  meet  with  no  oppor- 
tunity to  enrich  themselves.  Positive  honesty  is 
that  which  remains  in  temptation  always  up  to  the 
thighs  without  ever  yielding  to  it,  like  that  of  the 
receiving  teller.  A  whole  crowd  of  evil  intentions 
rushed  into  the  intelligence  and  into  the  heart  of 
this  concierge  when  the  flood-gates  of  self-interest 
were  set  open  by  the  devilish  suggestion  of  the  old- 
iron  merchant  Madame  Cibot  went  up,  flew  up, 
to  speak  accurately,  from  the  lodge  to  the  apartment 
of  her  two  gentlemen,  and  presented  herself,  with  a 
face  of  assumed  tenderness,  on  the  threshold  of  the 
chamber  where  Rons  and  Schmucke  were  lamenting. 
As  he  saw  the  housekeeper  enter,  Schmucke  made 
a  sign  to  her  to  say  nothing  before  the  patient  of 
the  doctor's  real  opinion;  for  this  friend,  this  de- 
voted German,  had  read  the  truth  in  the  doctor's 
eyes.  Madame  Cibot  answered  by  another  sign  of 
the  head,  expressive  of  the  deepest  grief. 
(175) 


1 76  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Well,  my  dear  gentleman,  how  do  you  feel?" 
said  she. 

The  concierge  took  her  stand  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  her  fists  on  her  hips,  and  her  eyes  fixed  lov- 
ingly upon  the  sick  man — but  what  sparks  of  gold 
flashed  up  in  these  eyes !  It  was  as  terrible  as  the 
glance  of  a  tiger  to  an  observer. 

"Very  badly,"  answered  the  poor  Rons.  "I  have 
not  the  least  appetite — Ah!  what  a  world  it  is,"  he 
cried,  pressing  the  hand  of  Schmucke,  who,  seated 
beside  his  pillow,  held  his  friend's,  and  with  whom 
doubtless  the  invalid  had  been  speaking  of  the 
causes  of  his  illness.  "I  would  have  done  much 
better,  my  good  Schmucke,  if  I  had  followed  your 
advice!  if  I  had  dined  here  every  day  since  our 
union !  if  I  had  renounced  that  society  which  rolls 
over  me  like  a  tumbrel  over  an  egg,  and  why? — " 

"Come,  come,  my  good  monsieur,  don't  be  so 
gloomy,"  said  Madame  Cibot  "The  doctor  has 
told  me  the  truth — " 

Schmucke  twitched  her  dress. 

"And  you  can  get  over  it,  but  you  must  have  a 
great  lot  of  care.  You  can  be  easy;  haven't  you 
got  a  very  good  friend  and,  not  to  praise  myself  too 
much,  a  woman  as  will  nurse  you  just  like  a  mother 
nurses  her  first  baby?  I  pulled  Cibot  through  a 
sickness  when  M.  Poulain  said  he  was  done  for,  and 
had  put  the  weights,  as  they  say,  on  his  eyes,  and 
gave  him  up  for  dead ! — Now,  you  ain't  nearly  so 
bad  as  that,  God  be  praised,  although  you  are  pretty 
sick,  but  you  trust  me — I'll  pull  you  through  all 


COUSIN  PONS  177 

by  my  own  self!  Be  easy  and  don't  fidget  that 
way." 

She  drew  the  bed-clothes  over  the  sick  man's 
hands. 

"Don't  you  never  worry,  my  boy,"  said  she, 
"M.  Schmucke  and  I,  we'll  sit  up  all  night  with 
you  here  at  your  bedside — You'll  be  nursed  better 
nor  a  prince; — and  besides,  ain't  you  rich  enough 
to  be  able  to  have  everything  that  is  necessary  for 
your  sickness — I  have  arranged  all  that  with  Cibot; 
poor  dear  man,  what  will  he  do  without  me! — All 
the  same,  I've  made  him  listen  to  reason,  and  we 
both  love  you  so  much  that  he  has  consented  that  I 
should  stay  up  here  at  nights — And  for  a  man  like 
him,  that's  a  mighty  sacrifice,  be  sure,  for  he  loves 
me  as  he  did  the  first  day.  I  don't  know  why  he 
is  so!  it's  living  in  that  lodge!  always  side  by 
side! — Don't  uncover  yourself  like  that,"  she 
cried,  darting  to  the  head  of  the  bed  and  pulling  the 
bed-clothes  over  Pons's  chest  "If  you  don't 
behave  nicely,  and  if  you  don't  do  all  that  M.  Pou- 
lain  orders  for  you,  and  he  is  the  image  of  the  good 
God  on  earth,  I  won't  take  any  care  of  you — You 
will  have  to  mind  me — " 

"Yez,  Montame  Zipod,  he  vill  opey  you,  for  he 
vill  dry  to  lif  for  hees  goot  frent  Schmucke,  I  gan 
bromise  dat" 

"And  above  all,  you  mustn't  get  impatient," 
went  on  Madame  Cibot,  "for  your  sickness  will 
make  you  enough  so  without  your  making  no  worse 
your  natural  want  of  patience.  God  sends  us  our 

12 


178  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

troubles,  my  dear,  good  monsieur,  he  punishes  us 
for  our  faults;  haven't  you  got  no  nice  little  dear 
faults  to  reproach  yourself  with? — " 

The  sick  man  shook  his  head  negatively. 

"Oh,  come  on,  you  have  never  loved  no  one  when 
you  were  young?  you  have  never  done  no  foolish- 
ness ?  you  have  not  perhaps  somewheres  a  love-child 
that  hasn't  got  no  bread,  no  fire,  no  home? — You 
monsters  of  men ! — you  love  a  person  one  day  and 
then  say,  whist! — you  don't  think  no  more  of  any- 
thing, not  even  of  paying  for  a  month's  nursing! — 
Poor  women! — " 

"But  there  was  no  one  but  Schmucke  and  my 
poor  mother  who  ever  loved  me,"  said  poor  Pons, 
sadly. 

"Nonsense,  you're  not  no  saint!  Weren't  you 
never  young — and  you  must  have  been  a  very 
pretty  fellow  at  twenty — I  would  have  loved  you 
myself,  good  as  you  are — " 

"I  was  always  as  ugly  as  a  toad — "  said  Pons 
despairingly. 

"You  say  that  for  modesty.  You  have  that  to  be 
said  in  your  favor,  anyhow,  that  you  are  modest." 

"No,  no,  my  dear  Madame  Cibot,  I  repeat  it  to 
you,  I  was  always  ugly,  and  I  have  never  been 
loved—" 

"I  like  that — you,  indeed!"  she  said.  "You 
would  try  to  make  me  believe  at  this  time  that  you 
are  as  innocent  as  a  babe  unborn — A  man  of  your 
kind,  a  musician,  a  theatre  man !  Why,  if  it  was 
a  woman  that  told  me  so  1  shouldn't  believe  her." 


COUSIN  PONS  179 

"Montame  Zipod,  you  moost  not  irridade  heem ! " 
cried  Schmucke  as  he  saw  poor  Pons  writhing,  like 
a  worm,  in  his  bed. 

"Now  you  hold  your  tongue!  You  are  both  of 
you  two  old  rakes — Suppose  you  ain't  very  good- 
looking,  there  ain't  no  ugly  cover  that  hasn't  its  pot! 
as  the  proverb  says !  Cibot  made  the  handsomest 
oyster-woman  in  all  Paris  love  him — and  you  are  a 
deal  better-looking  than  he — You  are  very  good, 
you ! — Go  along,  you  played  your  little  games ! — and 
God  punishes  you  for  having  deserted  your  children 
like  Abraham! — " 

The  sick  man,  overwhelmed,  found  strength  to 
make  another  gesture  of  denial. 

"But  don't  worry,  that  won't  prevent  you  living 
to  be  as  old  as  Methusalem. " 

"But  will  you  let  me  alone!  "cried  Pons.  "I 
never  knew  what  it  was  to  be  loved ! — I  have  no 
children,  1  am  alone  upon  the  earth — " 

"No,  is  that  so? — "  said  the  concierge,  "for 
you  are  so  good,  and  the  women,  don't  you  know, 
love  goodness,  that's  what  makes  them  like  you; 
— and  it  seems  to  me  impossible  that  in  your  best 
days—" 

"Take  her  away!"  said  Pons  inSchmucke's  ear. 
"She  worries  me." 

"Monsieur  Schmucke,  then,  he  has  some  children 
— You  are  all  like  that,  you  old  bachelors — " 

"I,"  exclaimed  Schmucke,  jumping  on  his  feet, 
"but—" 

"Oh,  come,  you  also — you  haven't  got  no  heirs, 


180  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

haven't  you?  You  have  come  up,  both  of  you,  like 
mushrooms  out  of  the  ground — " 

"Gome,  go  along,"  replied  Schmucke. 

The  good  German  took  Madame  Cibot  heroically 
by  the  waist  and  dragged  her  from  the  room  in  spite 
of  her  cries. 

"You  wouldn't  wish  to,  at  your  age,  abuse  a 
poor  woman ! — "  cried  she,  struggling  in  Schmucke's 
arms. 

"Toan'd  sgreem! " 

"You,  the  best  of  the  two!  "  she  replied.  "Ah! 
I  did  wrong  to  talk  of  love  to  two  old  fellows  who 
have  never  known  any  woman !  I  have  made  you 
all  hot,  monster,"  she  cried,  seeing  that  Schmucke's 
eyes  sparkled  with  anger.  "Help!  help!  I  am 
being  carried  away." 

"You  are  ein  vool,"  answered  the  German. 
"Dell  me  vat  has  ze  togdor  zaid? " 

"You  treat  me  brutally,"  said  Madame  Cibot,  sob- 
bing, as  soon  as  she  was  released,  "I  who  would  go 
through  fire  and  water  for  you  two !  Ah,  well !  they 
say  that  men  show  what  they  are  in  time — How  true 
it  is!  My  poor  Cibot  would  never  have  used  me  so — 
I  who  behaved  like  a  mother  to  you;  for  I  hain't  got 
no  children,  and  I  was  saying  yesterday,  yes,  no 
later  nor  yesterday,  to  Cibot:  'My  love,  God  knew 
what  he  was  a-doing  when  he  wouldn't  let  us  have 
no  children,  for  I  have  got  two  babies  upstairs ! ' 
There !  by  the  Holy  Cross  of  the  good  God,  by  the 
soul  of  my  mother,  that's  just  what  I  said  to  him — " 

"Put    vat    has     ze     togdor    zaid,"    demanded 


COUSIN  PONS  l8l 

Schmucke,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
stamped  his  foot 

"Well,  he  said,"  replied  Madame  Cibot,  drawing 
Schmucke  into  the  dining-room,  "he  said  that  our 
dearly-beloved  darling  was  in  danger  of  dying  if  he 
did  not  have  the  best  of  care;  but  I  am  here  in  spite 
of  your  brutality;  for  you  are  brutal,  you  whom  I 
took  to  be  so  gentle.  Is  that  the  kind  of  man  you 
are  ? — Ah !  you  would  go  to  insult  a  woman  at  your 
age,  you  old  scoundrel  ? — " 

"Sgountrel!  I!  Toan'd  you  know  I  gan  no  von 
lofe  only  Bons!  " 

"Well,  that's  all  right,  you  will  let  me  alone, 
won't  you  ?"  she  answered,  smiling  at  Schmucke. 
"You'd  better,for  Cibot  would  break  any  one's  bones 
who  insulted  his  honor !  " 

"Dake  goot  gare  of  heem,  my  leedle  Montame 
Zipod,"  returned  Schmucke,  trying  to  take  Madame 
Cibot's  hand. 

"There !  do  you  see,  you  are  at  it  again ! " 

"Leesten  to  me !  All  I  haf  ees  yours  eef  zo  be  as 
ve  gan  zave  heem." 

"Well,  well,  I  will  go  to  the  apothecary  and  get 
what's  wanted; — for  you  see,  monsieur,  this  sick- 
ness is  going  to  cost  you  a  good  deal ;  and  how  will 
you  arrange  that? — " 

"I  vill  vork.  It  moost  pe  dat  Bons  moost  pe 
gared  for  lige  a  brince." 

"He  shall  be,  my  good  Monsieur  Schmucke;  and 
don't  you  fret  about  nothing.  Cibot  and  I,  we  got 
two  thousand  francs  of  savings.  They  are  all  yours, 


1 82  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

and  it's  a  long  time  since  I  have  spent  anything  of 
my  own  here,  now! — " 

"Goot  vooman,"  cried  Schmucke,  wiping  his 
eyes.  "Vat  a  heart  zhe  has !  " 

"Dry  those  eyes  that  honor  me,  for  they  are  my 
reward !  "  cried  the  Cibot  melodramatically.  "There 
ain't  a  more  disinterested  creature  nor  I  am;  but 
don't  you  go  on  in  that  way,  with  your  eyes  crying, 
for  Monsieur  Pons  will  think  that  he  is  sicker  nor 
he  is." 

Schmucke,  touched  by  this  delicacy,  finally  got 
hold  of  her  hand  and  pressed  it 

"Do  not  spare  me!"  said  the  former  oyster- 
woman,  throwing  Schmucke  a  tender  glance. 

"Bons,"  said  the  good  German,  going  back  to  his 
friend,  "zhe  is  ein  anchel, — a  jaddering  anchel,  put 
ein  anchel  all  ze  zame." 

"Do  you  think  so? — I  have  grown  suspicious 
of  everyone  this  last  month,"  replied  the  sick 
man  shaking  his  head.  "After  all  my  troubles 
it  is  hard  to  believe  in  anything  but  in  God  and 
you!—" 

"Get  veil,  ant  ve  vill  all  dree  leef  togedder  lige 
kings,"  replied  Schmucke. 

"Cibot,"  cried  his  wife,  out  of  breath,  rushing 
into  the  porter's  lodge.  "Ah!  my  dear,  our  for- 
tune is  made.  My  two  gentlemen  haven't  got  no 
heirs,  and  no  natural  children,  and  no  nothing  what- 
ever!— Oh!  I  am  going  to  Mame  Fontaine's  to  get 
her  to  tell  our  fortune  on  the  cards  to  see  how 
much  money  we  are  to  get! — " 


COUSIN  PONS  183 

"My  wife,"  replied  the  little  tailor,  "don't depend 
upon  the  shoes  of  a  dead  man  to  be  well  shod." 

"Ah,  there!  are  you  going  to  plague  me,  you!" 
she  said,  giving  her  husband  a  friendly  tap.  "I 
know  what  I  know.  M.  Poulain  has  said  that 
M.  Rons  is  going  to  die!  And  we  shall  be  rich!  I 
shall  be  put  in  the  will ! — I  will  take  good  care  of 
that  You  stitch  away  here  and  watch  the  lodge, 
you  won't  be  much  longer  at  this  trade!  We  will 
retire  into  the  country  somewhere  around  Batig- 
nolles.  A  handsome  house,  a  fine  garden,  which 
you  will  love  to  work  in,  and  I  will  have  a  ser- 
vant!—" 

"Veil,  veil!  neighpor,  how  are  dey  cetting  on 
upstairs?"  asked  Remonencq.  "Haave  you  fount 
out  yet  vat  dat  gollection  is  vorth? — " 

"No,  no,  not  yet  You  can't  get  on  as  fast  as 
that,  my  good  man.  I,  I  began  by  finding  out  some- 
thing much  more  important — " 

"More  imbordant?"  cried  Remonencq,  "but  vat 
is  more  imbordant  dan  dees  ding? — " 

"Come,  come,  my  lad,  you  let  me  sail  the  ship," 
said  Madame  Cibot,  domineeringly. 

"But  dirty  per  chent  on  dat  one  hundret  dou- 
sand  franques  is  word  enuffe  to  maik  you  leeve  like 
a  pourgeois  for  tee  resd  of  your  dayz — " 

"Don't  you  worry,  Papa  Remonencq,  when  it  is 
necessary  to  know  what  all  those  things  the  old  fel- 
low has  picked  up  are  worth,  we  will  see  to  it — " 

And  Madame  Cibot,  after  going  to  the  apothe- 
cary's to  get  the  doctor's  prescription  made  up,  put 


1 84  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

off  till  to-morrow  her  consultation  with  Madame 
Fontaine,  figuring  that  she  should  find  the  faculties 
of  the  oracle  more  crisp,  more  fresh,  in  the  early 
morning,  before  the  crowd  arrived;  for  there  was 
often  a  crowd  at  Madame  Fontaine's. 


After  having  been,  during  forty  years,  the  rival 
of  the  celebrated  Mademoiselle  Lenormand,  whom  she 
survived,  Madame  Fontaine  was  at  .the  present  time 
the  oracle  of  the  Marais.  It  is  not  generally  known 
what  the  fortune-tellers  are  among  the  lower  classes 
in  Paris,  nor  the  immense  influence  they  exert  over 
the  decision  of  uneducated  persons;  for  the  cooks, 
the  concierges,  the  kept  mistresses,  work-people, 
all  those  who  in  Paris  live  on  hope,  consult  the 
privileged  beings  who  possess  the  strange  and  in- 
explicable power  of  reading  the  future.  The  belief 
in  occult  sciences  is  far  more  widely  spread  than 
the  scientists,  the  lawyers,  the  notaries,  the  doc- 
tors, the  magistrates,  and  the  philosophers  imagine. 
The  people  have  ineradicable  instincts.  Among 
these  instincts,  the  one  so  foolishly  called  supersti- 
tion is  as  much  in  their  blood  as  it  is  in  the  brains 
of  their  superiors.  More  than  one  statesman  in 
Paris  consult  the  fortune-tellers.  To  the  incredu- 
lous, judicial  astrology — a  most  grotesque  conjunc- 
tion of  words — is  nothing  more  than  the  exploitation 
of  an  innate  sentiment,  one  of  the  strongest  in  our 
nature,  curiosity.  The  incredulous  deny  positively 
the  relation  that  divination  establishes  between 
human  destiny  and  the  configurations  which  are 
obtained  by  the  seven  or  eight  principal  methods 
which  compose  judicial  astrology.  But  it  is  with 


1 86  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  occult  sciences  as  it  has  been  with  so  many 
natural  phenomena  ignored  by  the  more  intelligent 
or  by  the  materialistic  philosophers,  that  is  to  say, 
all  those  who  hold  exclusively  to  visible  and  solid 
facts,  to  those  results  obtained  by  the  retort,  or  the 
scales  of  physics  and  of  modern  chemistry;  these 
sciences  nevertheless  exist,  they  continue  to  ad- 
vance without  making  much  progress,  for  in  the  last 
two  centuries  their  culture  has  been  abandoned  by 
finer  minds. 

In  considering  only  the  possible  side  of  divina- 
tion, to  believe  that  the  past  events  of  a  man's  life, 
that  the  secrets  known  to  him  alone,  can  be  instantly 
revealed  by  the  cards  which  he  shuffles  and  cuts, 
and  which  the  reader  of  his  horoscope  divides,  ac- 
cording to  some  mysterious  rules,  into  various  little 
packs,  is  an  absurdity ;  but  steam  was  condemned 
as  an  absurdity,  and  so  is  to-day  aerial  navigation, 
so  was  the  invention  of  gun-powder,  and  of  print- 
ing, that  of  spectacles,  the  art  of  engraving,  and  the 
last  great  invention — the  daguerreotype.  If  any 
one  had  gone  to  Napoleon  and  told  him  that  a  build- 
ing or  a  man  is  represented  at  all  moments,  and  per- 
petually, by  an  image  in  the  atmosphere;  that  all 
existing  objects  have  within  that  atmosphere  a  per- 
ceptible and  obtainable  spectre,  he  would  have  sent 
that  man  to  Charenton,  just  as  Richelieu  put  Salo- 
mon de  Caux  in  the  Bice"tre,  when  that  Norman 
martyr  offered  him  the  vast  conquest  of  steam  navi- 
gation. And  that  is,  nevertheless,  that  which 
Daguerre  has  proved  by  his  discovery !  Very  well, 


COUSIN  PONS  187 

if  God  has  imprinted  for  certain  clear-seeing  eyes 
the  destiny  of  every  man  upon  his  physiognomy, 
meaning  by  that  word  the  expression  of  his  whole 
body,  why  should  not  the  hand  resume  in  itself  all 
that  physiognomy,  since  the  hand  is  the  whole  of 
human  action  and  its  sole  means  of  manifestation  ? 
Hence  chiromancy.  Does  not  society  imitate  God? 
To  predict  to  a  man  the  coming  events  of  his  life  by 
the  aspect  of  his  hand  is  a  feat  not  any  more  extra- 
ordinary to  those  who  have  received  the  faculties 
of  a  seer  than  it  is  to  say  to  a  soldier  that  he  will 
fight,  to  a  lawyer  that  he  will  speak,  to  the  shoe- 
maker that  he  will  make  shoes  or  boots,  to  the  hus- 
bandman that  he  will  manure  the  earth  and  till  it 
Let  us  take  a  striking  instance.  Genius  is  so  visi- 
ble in  man  that  when  he  walks  through  the  streets 
of  Paris  a  great  artist  is  recognized  by  the  most 
ignorant  people.  It  is  like  a  spiritual  sun  whose 
rays  light  up  all  around  him  as  he  passes.  Is 
an  imbecile  also  immediately  recognized  by  the 
contrary  impressions  to  those  which  the  man  of 
genius  produces?  Commonplace  men  pass  almost 
unperceived.  The  greater  part  of  the  observers  of 
social  and  Parisian  human  nature  can  tell  at  a 
glance  the  profession  of  a  man  who  passes  them  in 
the  street  To-day  the  mysteries  of  the  witch's 
Sabbat,  so  fully  pictured  by  the  painters  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  are  mysteries  no  longer.  The 
Egyptian  sorcerers,  male  and  female,  progenitors  of 
the  gypsies  of  Bohemia,  that  strange  race  coming 
from  India,  simply  made  their  votaries  eat  hashish. 


1 88  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

The  phenomena  produced  by  that  drug  explain 
amply  the  riding  on  broomsticks,  the  flight  up  the 
chimneys,  the  real  visions,  so  to  speak,  of  old  women 
changed  into  young  ones,  the  frenzied  dances  and 
the  entrancing  music  which  compose  the  fantastic 
devotions  of  the  pretended  worshipers  of  the  devil. 

To-day  so  many  authentic  and  established  facts 
have  come  to  light  by  means  of  the  occult  sciences 
that  some  day  these  sciences  will  be  taught,  just  as 
now  we  teach  chemistry  and  astronomy.  It  is  even 
singular  that  at  this  moment,  when  they  are  creat- 
ing in  Paris  professors  of  the  Slav,  of  the  Mantchoo, 
of  literatures  as  unacademic  as  the  literatures  of  the 
North,  which,  instead  of  furnishing  lessons  should 
receive  them,  and  of  which  the  nominal  professors 
repeat  eternal  dissertations  upon  Shakespeare  or 
upon  the  sixteenth  century, — that  they  have  not 
revived  under  the  name  of  anthropology,  the  teach- 
ing of  occult  philosophy,  one  of  the  glories  of  the 
ancient  University.  In  this,  Germany,  that  nation 
at  once  so  great  and  so  infantile,  has  gone  further 
than  France,  for  there  they  profess  this  science,  a 
much  more  useful  one  than  the  various  PHILOSO- 
PHIES which  are,  in  point  of  fact,  all  the  same  thing. 

That  certain  created  beings  should  have  the  power 
of  foreseeing  events  in  the  germ  of  causes,  just  as 
the  great  inventor  perceives  an  art  or  science  in 
some  natural  phenomenon  unobserved  by  the  ordi- 
nary mind,  this  is  not  one  of  those  violent  excep- 
tions to  the  order  of  things  which  excite  unthinking 
clamor ;  it  is  simply  the  working  of  a  recognized 


COUSIN  PONS  189 

faculty,  and  of  one  which  is  in  some  measure  the 
somnambulism  of  the  spirit  This  proposition,  on 
which  rest  all  the  various  methods  of  deciphering 
the  future,  may  seem  absurd, — but  the  fact  remains. 
Observe  also  that  to  predict  the  great  events  of  the 
future  is  not,  for  the  seer,  any  greater  exhibition  of 
power  than  that  of  revealing  the  secrets  of  the  past 
The  past  and  the  future  are  equally  unknown  in 
the  system  of  the  incredulous.  If  past  events  have 
left  their  traces,  it  is  reasonable  to  infer  that  com- 
ing ones  have  their  roots.  Whenever  a  soothsayer 
tells  you,  minutely,  facts  of  your  past  life  known  to 
yourself  alone,  he  can  surely  tell  you  of  events 
which  existing  causes  will  produce.  The  moral 
world  is  cut  out,  so  to  speak,  on  the  pattern  of  the 
material  world ;  the  same  effects  may  be  found  in 
it,  with  the  differences  proper  to  their  varied  envi- 
ronments. Thus,  just  as  the  body  is  actually  pro- 
jected into  the  atmosphere  and  leaves  in  it  existing 
the  spectre  seized  by  the  daguerreotype  which 
arrested  it  in  its  passage ;  so  ideas,  real  and  poten- 
tial creations,  imprint  themselves  upon  what  we 
must  call  the  atmosphere  of  the  spiritual  world, 
produce  effects  upon  it,  remain  there  spectrally, — it 
is  necessary  to  co in  words  to  express  these  unknown 
phenomena, — and  hence  certain  created  beings, 
endowed  with  rare  faculties,  can  clearly  perceive 
these  forms  or  these  traces  of  thoughts  or  ideas. 

As  to  the  means  employed  to  obtain  visions, 
these  are,  of  all  these  marvels,  those  which  are 
most  readily  explained,  as  soon  as  the  hand  of  the 


IQO  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

inquirer  has  arranged  the  objects  by  the  aid  of 
which  he  is  to  be  shown  the  happenings  of  his  life. 
In  fact,  all  things  are  linked  together  in  the  real 
world.  Every  motion  in  it  corresponds  to  a  cause, 
every  cause  is  a  part  of  the  whole ;  consequently, 
the  whole  is  represented  in  the  slightest  movement 
Rabelais,  the  greatest  mind  of  modern  humanity, 
this  man  who  combined  within  himself  Pythagoras, 
Hippocrates,  Aristophanes,  and  Dante,  declared 
three  centuries  ago  "man  is  a  microcosm."  Three 
centuries  later,  Swedenborg,  the  great  Swedish 
prophet,  said  that  the  earth  was  a  man.  The 
prophet  and  the  precursor  of  scepticism  thus  met 
upon  the  ground  of  this  greatest  of  all  formulas. 
All  things  are  predestined  in  human  life,  as  in  the 
life  of  our  planet  The  slightest  accidents,  the  most 
futile,  are  regulated  by  law.  Consequently,  the 
great  events,  the  great  designs,  the  great  thoughts, 
have  their  necessary  reflex  in  the  least  actions,  and 
with  so  much  fidelity  that  if  some  conspirator  were 
to  shuffle  and  cut  a  pack  of  cards  he  would  write, 
in  so  doing,  the  secret  of  his  conspiracy  to  be  read 
by  the  seer,  otherwise  called  Bohemian,  fortune- 
teller, charlatan,  etc.  As  soon  as  we  admit  neces- 
sity, that  is  to  say,  the  connection  of  causes,  judi- 
cial astrology  exists  and  becomes  that  which  it 
once  was — a  vast  science,  for  it  comprises  the  fac- 
ulty of  deduction  which  made  Cuvier  so  great;  but 
spontaneous,  instead  of  being,  as  in  the  case  of  that 
fine  genius,  exercised  only  on  studious  nights,  in 
the  depths  of  his  own  cabinet 


COUSIN  PONS  191 

Judicial  astrology,  divination,  reigned  for  seven 
centuries,  not  as  to-day  over  the  common  people, 
but  over  the  loftiest  intelligences,  over  sovereigns, 
queens,  and  the  wealthy.  One  of  the  greatest 
sciences  of  antiquity,  animal  magnetism,  survived 
from  the  occult  sciences,  just  as  chemistry  issued 
from  the  retorts  of  the  alchemists.  Phrenology, 
the  science  of  physiognomy,  neurology,  are  also 
derived  from  it;  and  the  illustrious  creators  of  these 
sciences,  apparently  so  novel,  have  made  but  one 
error — that  of  all  inventors — and  which  consists  in 
generalizing  absolutely  from  isolated  facts  whose 
generating  cause  still  escapes  analysis.  There 
came  a  day  when  the  Church  and  modern  philosophy 
found  themselves  in  accord  with  the  law,  to  pro- 
scribe, persecute,  and  ridicule  the  mysteries  of  the 
Kabala  and  its  adepts,  and  there  ensued  a  regret- 
table gap  of  one  hundred  years  in  the  supremacy  and 
the  study  of  the  occult  sciences.  Nevertheless,  the 
people,  and  many  persons  of  intelligence,  women 
especially,  continue  to  pay  their  contributions  to 
the  mysterious  power  of  those  who  are  able  to  lift 
the  veil  of  the  future ;  they  go  to  them  to  purchase 
hope,  courage,  strength,  in  other  words,  that  which 
religion  alone  can  give  them.  So  this  science  is 
still  constantly  practised,  not  without  certain  risks. 
In  our  day,  the  sorcerers,  guaranteed  against  torture 
by  the  tolerance  won  by  the  encyclopedists  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  are  now  only  answerable  to  the 
correctional  police,  and  in  those  cases  only  in  which 
they  practise  fraud,  when  they  terrify  their  clients 


IQ2  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

for  the  purpose  of  extorting  money, — offenses  which 
come  under  the  charge  of  swindling.  Unfortunately, 
such  swindling,  and  often  actual  crime,  accompany 
the  exercise  of  this  sublime  faculty.  For  this 
reason : 

The  admirable  gifts  which  make  the  seer  are 
usually  met  with  among  those  we  characterize  as 
brutish.  These  brutes  are  the  chosen  vessels  in 
which  God  has  poured  the  elixirs  which  surprise 
humanity.  These  brutes  furnish  the  prophets,  the 
Saint  Peters,  the  Hermit.  Whenever  thought 
can  be  kept  in  its  integrity,  in  its  complete- 
ness, not  frittered  away  in  conversation,  in  in- 
trigues, in  literary  work,  in  the  speculations  of  the 
scientists,  in  administrative  efforts,  in  the  concep- 
tions of  the  inventor,  in  warlike  works,  it  is  apt  to 
burn  with  fire  of  a  prodigious  intensity,  just  as  the 
uncut  diamond  contains  all  the  sparkle  of  its  facets. 
Let  the  occasion  arrive,  this  intelligence  at  once 
lights  up,  it  has  wings  to  waft  it  over  space,  divine 
eyes  to  perceive  everything;  yesterday  it  was  car- 
bon ;  to-morrow,  under  the  flooding  of  the  mysteri- 
ous fluid  which  pervades  it,  it  is  a  diamond  which 
glitters.  Men  of  superior  mind  with  all  the  facets 
of  their  intellect  well-worn,  can  never,  without  at 
least  one  of  those  miracles  which  God  permits  him- 
self sometimes,  offer  this  supreme  power.  Thus  it 
happens  that  the  diviners,  male  and  female,  are 
nearly  always  mendicants  with  uncultured  minds, 
beings  apparently  of  coarse  fibre,  pebbles  rolled  in 
the  torrents  of  poverty,  in  the  ruts  of  existence, 


COUSIN  PONS  193 

where  they  have  expended  only  physical  suffering. 
The  prophet,  the  seer,  is  in  fact,  Martin  the  laborer, 
who  made  Louis  XVIII.  tremble  by  telling  to  him  a 
secret  known  only  to  the  king;  it  is  a  Mademoiselle 
Lenormand,  a  cook  like  Madame  Fontaine,  some 
half-idiotic  negress,  some  herdsman  living  among 
his  horned  beasts,  a  fakir  sitting  at  the  edge  of  a 
pagoda  and  who,  by  killing  the  flesh,  has  won  for 
the  spirit  all  the  unknown  powers  of  somnambulic 
faculties. 

It  is  in  Asia  that  from  all  time  have  been  found 
the  heroes  of  the  occult  sciences.  It  often  happens 
that  these  individuals  who  in  their  ordinary  lives 
remain  their  ordinary  selves, — for  they  fulfill,  as 
it  were,  the  chemical  and  physical  functions  of  the 
conducting  mediums  of  an  electric  current,  alter- 
nately inert  metal  and  canals  full  of  mysterious 
fluids, — these  individuals,  sinking  back  into  their 
natural  condition,  betake  themselves  to  practices 
and  schemes  which  bring  them  under  the  power  of 
the  police,  and  find  themselves,  as  in  the  case  of 
the  famous  Balthazar,  before  the  Assize  Court  or  in 
the  galleys.  In  fine,  a  proof  of  the  immense  power 
which  cartomancy  exercises  over  the  lower  orders 
may  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the  life  or  death  of 
our  poor  musician  depended  on  the  horoscope  which 
Madame  Fontaine  was  about  to  draw  for  Madame 
Cibot 


Though  certain  repetitions  are  inevitable  in  so 
extensive  a  work  and  one  so  full  of  detail  as  a  com- 
plete history  of  French  society  in  the  nineteenth 
century,  it  is  unnecessary  to  paint  here  the  den 
of  Madame  Fontaine,  already  described  in  The 
Involuntary  Comedians.  Only,  however,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  observe  that  Madame  Cibot  went  into 
Madame  Fontaine's  in  the  Rue  Vieille-du- Temple, 
very  much  as  the  habitues  of  the  Cafe  Anglais 
enter  that  restaurant  to  breakfast  Madame  Cibot, 
a  very  old  customer,  often  brought  her  young  peo- 
ple and  the  gossips  of  the  neighborhood,  devoured 
by  curiosity. 

The  old  servant  who  served  as  an"  usher  to  the 
fortune-teller,  opened  the  door  of  the  sanctuary 
without  giving  notice  to  her  mistress. 

"It  is  Madame  Cibot!— Walk  in,"  she  added, 
"there  is  no  one  here." 

"Well,  my  little  one,  what  has  brought  you  out 
so  early? "  asked  the  sorceress. 

Madame  Fontaine,  then  sixty-eight  years  of  age, 
merited  this  qualification  by  her  personal  appear- 
ance, worthy  of  one  of  the  Parca?. 

"I  am  all  upside  down,  give  me  the  Grand  Deal," 
cried  the  Cibot  "It  is  a  question  of  my  fortune." 

And  she  explained  the  situation  in  which  she 
(195) 


196  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

found  herself,  and  demanded  a  prophecy  for  her 
sordid  hopes. 

"You  do  not  know  what  it  is, — the  Grand  Deal  ? " 
said  Madame  Fontaine  solemnly. 

"No,  I  have  never  been  rich  enough  to  see  that 
game! — A  hundred  francs!  Excuse  me,— where 
could  I  have  got  them  ?  But  to-day,  now,  I  must 
have  it!" 

"I  do  not  do  it  often,  my  little  one,"  replied 
Madame  Fontaine,  "I  only  give  it  to  rich  people  on 
great  occasions,  and  they  pay  me  twenty-five  louis; 
for,  do  you  see,  that  fatigues  me,  it  wears  me  out ! 
The  Spirit  shakes  me  up,  down  there  in  my  stomach. 
It  is  like,  as  they  used  to  say,  going  to  the  Sabbat !  " 

"But  when  I  tell  you,  my  good  Madame  Fon- 
taine, that  it  is  a  question  of  all  my  future — " 

"Well,  for  you,  to  whom  I  owe  so  many  consulta- 
tions, I  will  give  myself  up  to  the  Spirit!"  replied 
Madame  Fontaine,  revealing  in  her  withered  coun- 
tenance an  expression  of  terror  that  was  not  simu- 
lated. 

She  left  her  old  dirty  sofa  in  the  corner  of  the 
chimney  and  went  towards  her  table,  covered  with 
a  green  cloth  so  worn  that  all  the  threads  could  be 
counted  in  it,  and  where,  on  the  left,  a  toad  of 
enormous  dimensions  lay  asleep  beside  an  open  cage 
which  was  inhabited  by  a  black  hen  with  ruffled 
feathers. 

"Astaroth!  Here,  my  son!"  said  she,  giving  a 
light  tap  with  a  long  knitting-needle  on  the  back  of 
the  toad,  which  looked  up  to  her  with  an  intelligent 


COUSIN  PONS  197 

air,  "and  you,  Mademoiselle  Cleopatra !  attention!" 
she  added,  giving  another  little  tap  on  the  beak  of 
the  old  hen. 

Madame  Fontaine  then  sank  into  inward  medita- 
tion, she  remained  during  several  moments  perfectly 
motionless;  she  looked  like  a  dead  woman,  her  eyes 
turned  inwards  so  that  only  the  whites  were  seen ; 
then  she  stiffened  herself  and  said  in  a  cavernous 
voice: 

"I  am  here!" 

Then,  after  having  automatically  strewn  some 
grain  for  Cleopatra,  she  took  up  her  pack  of  cards, 
le  grand  jeu,  shuffled  them  convulsively,  and  made 
Madame  Cibot  cut  them,  all  the  while  sighing 
deeply.  When  this  image  of  death  in  a  dirty  tur- 
ban, wrapped  in  a  sinister  jacket,  examined  the 
grains  of  millet  which  the  black  hen  pecked  at  and 
ordered  her  toad  Astaroth  to  creep  over  the  cards 
which  were  spread  on  the  table,  Madame  Cibot  felt 
the  cold  run  down  her  back,  she  shivered.  If  is 
only  the  great  beliefs  which  give  great  emotions. 
To  have  or  not  to  have  the  money — that  was  the 
question,  as  Shakespeare  says. 


At  the  end  of  seven  or  eight  minutes,  during 
which  the  sorceress  opened  and  read  in  a  sepulchral 
voice,  from  a  conjuring  book,  and  examined  the 
grains  of  millet  which  remained,  and  the  track 
which  the  toad  had  made  as  it  crept  away,  she  ex- 
pounded the  meaning  of  the  cards  in  turning  upon 
them  her  white  eyes. 

"You  will  succeed !  though  nothing  in  this  affair 


198  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

will  happen  as  you  think,  "she  said.  "You  will 
have  many  steps  to  take.  But  you  will  gather  the 
fruits  of  your  labors.  You  will  do  very  great 
wrong,  but  it  will  be  with  you  as  with  all  those 
who  are  near  sick  people  and  who  covet  a  part  of 
their  inheritance.  You  will  be  helped  in  this  evil 
work  by  people  of  consequence — Later,  you  will 
repent  in  the  agonies  of  death,  for  you  will  die 
in  the  village  to  which  you  will  retire  with  your 
second  husband,  assassinated  by  two  escaped  con- 
victs, one  a  small  man  with  red  hair,  and  one  an  old 
man  quite  bald,  on  account  of  the  fortune  which  you 
will  be  supposed  to  have — Go,  my  daughter,  you 
are  free  to  act  or  to  remain  as  you  are." 

The  inward  exaltation  which  had  lit  the  torches 
in  the  hollow  eyes  of  this  skeleton,  so  cold  in  appear- 
ance, instantly  went  out  When  the  horoscope 
was  pronounced,  Madame  Fontaine  experienced 
something  like  a  bewilderment,  and  resembled  in 
every  respect  a  somnambulist  suddenly  awakened; 
she  looked  around  her  with  an  astonished  air ;  then 
she  recognized  Madame  Cibot,  and  appeared  sur- 
prised to  see  the  horror  depicted  on  her  face. 

"Well,  my  daughter,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  quite 
different  from  that  in  which  she  had  prophesied — 
"are  you  satisfied? — " 

Madame  Cibot  looked  at  the  sorceress  with  a 
stupefied  air,  without  being  able  to  answer  her. 

"Ah,  you  would  have  the  Grand  Deal !  I  have 
treated  you  like  an  old  acquaintance.  Only  give 
me  the  hundred  francs — " 


COUSIN  PONS  199 

"Cibot,  to  die?"  cried  the  concierge. 

"I,  then,  have  said  to  you  very  terrible  things  ? — " 
demanded  Madame  Fontaine,  quite  simply. 

"Why,  yes!"  said  the  Cibot,  drawing  from  her 
pocket  one  hundred  francs,  and  putting  them  on  the 
edge  of  the  table.  "To  die  assassinated! — " 

"Ah!  see  there,  you  would  have  the  Grand  Deal. 
— But  console  yourself,  all  the  people  assassinated 
in  the  cards  do  not  die." 

"But,  is  that  possible,  Mame  Fontaine?" 

"Ah,  my  pretty  little  one,  I,  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it  You  would  rap  at  the  door  of  the  future, 
and  I  have  pulled  the  cord,  that  is  all — and  he  came ! " 

"What  he  ?  "  said  Madame  Cibot 

"Well,  the  Spirit,  whatever  it  is,"  replied  the 
sorceress,  impatiently. 

"Good-bye,  Madame  Fontaine,"  replied  the  other. 
"I  didn't  know  the  Grand  Deal,  you've  frightened 
me  terribly.  See,  there!" 

"Madame  does  not  put  herself  twice  a  month  into 
that  state!"  said  the  servant-woman,  reconducting 
Madame  Cibot  to  the  landing.  "She  is  all  broken 
up  by  the  pain  of  it,  it  uses  her  up  so.  Now  she 
will  eat  some  mutton  chops  and  sleep  for  three 
hours—" 

Once  in  the  street,  as  she  walked  along,  Madame 
Cibot  did  as  inquirers  after  advice  of  all  kinds  do. 
She  believed  in  that  which  the  prophecy  offered 
that  would  favor  her  interests,  and  she  doubted  the 
misfortunes  promised.  The  next  day,  confirmed  in 
her  resolutions,  she  put  everything  at  work  to  find 


200  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

some  way  to  enrich  herself  by  acquiring  a  part  of 
the  Pons  museum.  Thus  for  some  time  she  enter- 
tained no  other  thought  than  that  of  how  to  combine 
the  means  of  success.  The  phenomenon  which  we 
have  just  explained,  that  of  the  concentration  of 
moral  forces  in  the  common  people  who,  never  hav- 
ing used  their  intellectual  faculties  like  the  educated 
classes,  in  daily  activity,  find  these  faculties  strong 
and  powerful  at  the  moment  when  their  minds 
become  possessed  of  that  formidable  weapon  called 
a  fixed  idea,—  now  appeared  in  Madame  Cibot  in  a 
superior  degree.  Just  as  a  fixed  idea  can  produce 
miracles  of  adroitness  and  miracles  of  sentiment, 
this  woman,  urged  by  cupidity,  became  as  pow- 
erful as  a  Nucingen  at  bay,  as  quick-witted  beneath 
her  stupidity  as  the  seductive  La  Palferine. 

A  few  days  later,  seeing  Remonencq  opening  his 
shop  at  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  she 
went  to  him  with  the  slyness  of  a  cat 

"What  is  to  be  done  to  find  out  the  truth  about 
the  value  of  those  things  piled  up  there  in  the  apart- 
ment of  my  gentlemen  ? "  asked  she  of  him. 

"Oh,  that's  easy  enough,"  replied  the  curiosity 
dealer  in  his  frightful  Auvergnat  dialect,  which  it 
is  useless  to  continue  to  reproduce  for  the  clearness 
of  the  narrative.  "If  you  will  deal  fair  with  me,  I  will 
tell  you  of  an  appraiser,  a  very  honest  man,  who 
will  know  the  value  of  those  pictures  to  a  penny." 

"Who?" 

"Monsieur  Magus,  a  Jew,  who  only  does  busi- 
ness now  for  his  own  pleasure." 


THE  CI EOT  AND  MADAME  FONTAINE 


"You  will  succeed !  though  nothing  in  this  affair 
will  happen  as  you  think"  she  said.  "  You  will  have 
many  steps  to  take.  But  you  will  gather  the  fruits 
of  your  labors.  You  will  do  very  great  wrong,  but 
it  will  be  with  you  as  with  all  those  who  are  near 
sick  people  and  who  covet  a  part  of  their  inheritance. 
You  will  be  helped  in  this  evil  work  by  people  of 
consequence — Later — " 


* 

Elie  Magus,  whose  name  is  too  well-known  to 
readers  of  The  Human  Comedy  to  require  a  descrip- 
tion of  him  here,  had  retired  from  the  business 
of  selling  pictures  and  curiosities,  in  which,  as  a 
merchant,  he  had  followed  the  conduct  which  Pons 
had  pursued  as  an  amateur.  The  celebrated  ap- 
praisers, the  late  Henry,  MM.  Pigeot  and  Moret, 
Theret,  Georges  and  Roe'hn,  in  fact  all  the  experts 
of  the  Musee,  were  children  as  compared  with  filie 
Magus,  who  could  discover  a  chef-d'oeuvre  under  the 
dirt  of  a  century,  who  knew  all  the  schools  and  the 
signatures  of  all  the  painters. 

This  Jew,  who  came  originally  from  Bordeaux  to 
Paris,  had  given  up  business  in  1835,  without, 
however,  giving  up  the  miserable  appearance  which 
he  retained,  according  to  the  habits  of  the  majority 
of  Jews,  so  faithful  is  this  race  to  its  traditions. 
During  the  Middle  Ages,  persecution  obliged  the 
Jews  to  go  in  rags  so  as  to  disarm  suspicion,  to 
always  complain  and  whine,  and  cry,  in  their  pov- 
erty. The  compulsions  of  former  times  have  de- 
veloped, as  always  happens,  a  race-instinct  of  the 
people,  an  endemic  vice,  filie  Magus,  by  dint  of 
buying  diamonds  and  reselling  them,  of  bargaining 
for  pictures  and  laces,  valuable  curiosities  and 
enamels,  fine  sculptures  and  old  goldsmith's  work, 
possessed  an  immense  fortune  of  unknown  amount 
(201) 


202  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

acquired  in  this  business,  now  become  so  consider- 
able. In  fact,  the  number  of  such  dealers  has 
increased  tenfold  within  the  last  twenty  years  in 
Paris,  the  city  in  which  all  the  curiosities  of  the 
world  give  each  other  rendezvous.  As  for  pictures, 
there  are  but  three  cities  in  which  they  are  sold — 
Rome,  London,  and  Paris. 

Elie  Magus  lived  in  the  Chaussee  des  Minimes,  a 
short,  wide  street  which  leads  to  the  Place  Royale, 
in  which  he  owned  an  old  mansion  bought  for 
a  piece  of  bread,  as  they  say,  in  1831.  This 
magnificent  structure  contained  one  of  the  most 
sumptuous  apartments,  decorated  in  the  time  of 
Louis  XV.,  for  it  was  the  old  Hotel  Maulaincourt 
Built  by  the  celebrated  president  of  the  Cour  des 
Aides,  it  escaped,  thanks  to  its  situation,  from  being 
plundered  during  the  Revolution.  If  the  old  Jew, 
contrary  to  Israel  itish  traditions,  had  decided  to 
become  a  proprietor,  we  may  well  be  sure  he  had 
his  reasons.  The  old  man  was  ending,  as  we  all 
end,  by  a  mania  developed  into  a  craze.  Though 
he  was  as  miserly  as  his  friend,  the  late  Gobseck, 
he  allowed  himself  to  be  influenced  by  his  admi- 
ration for  the  masterpieces  he  dealt  in;  but  his 
taste,  becoming  more  and  more  refined  and  difficult 
to  satisfy,  had  ended  by  becoming  one  of  those 
passions  which  are  only  permissible  to  kings  when 
they  are  rich  and  when  they  love  the  arts.  Like 
the  second  king  of  Prussia,  whose  enthusiasm  for 
grenadiers  was  only  awakened  when  the  subject  had 
of  height  at  least  six  feet,  and  who  expended 


COUSIN  PONS  203 

inordinate  sums  in  increasing  his  living  museum  of 
grenadiers,  the  retired  dealer  grew  enthusiastic 
over  none  but  irreproachable  canvases  left  as  the 
master  had  painted  them,  and  of  the  highest  order 
of  execution.  Thus,  Elie  Magus  was  never  absent 
from  one  of  the  great  sales,  he  visited  all  of  the 
picture  marts,  and  traveled  all  over  Europe.  This 
soul,  devoted  to  lucre,  cold  as  a  glacier,  warmed  up 
at  the  sight  of  a  chef-d'oeuvre,  precisely  as  a  liber- 
tine, weary  of  women,  is  moved  at  the  sight  of  a  per- 
fect young  girl,  and  devotes  himself  to  the  search  of 
beauty  without  defect  This  Don  Juan  of  pictures, 
this  worshipper  of  the  ideal,  found  then,  in  this 
admiration,  enjoyment  superior  to  that  which  the 
miser  receives  from  contemplation  of  his  gold.  He 
lived  in  a  seraglio  of  beautiful  pictures. 

These  masterpieces,  lodged  as  the  children  of 
princes  should  be,  occupied  the  whole  of  the  first 
floor  of  the  mansion  which  Elie  Magus  had  restored, 
and  with  what  splendor !  Before  the  windows  hung 
curtains  of  the  most  beautiful  gold  brocade  of 
Venice.  On  the  floors  were  extended  the  most 
magnificent  carpets  of  the  Savonnerie.  The  pic- 
tures, to  the  number  of  about  one  hundred,  were 
set  off  by  the  most  splendid  frames,  regilded,  all  of 
them,  with  taste,  by  the  only  gilder  of  Paris  whom 
Elie  found  conscientious,  by  Servais,  to  whom  the 
old  Jew  taught  the  art  of  gilding  with  English  gold, 
a  leaf  infinitely  superior  to  that  of  the  French  gold- 
beaters. Servais  is  in  the  art  of  gilding  what 
Thouvenin  is  in  that  of  binding,  an  artist  in  love 


204  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

with  his  own  work.  The  windows  of  this  apart- 
ment were  protected  by  iron  shutters.  £lie  Magus 
inhabited  two  rooms  under  the  mansard  of  the 
second  floor,  poorly  furnished,  full  of  his  ragged 
clothes,  and  smelling  of  Jewry,  for  he  was  ending  his 
life  as  he  had  always  lived. 

The  first  floor,  entirely  given  up  to  pictures,  for 
which  the  Jew  still  continued  to  barter,  and  to 
cases  arriving  from  foreign  countries,  contained  an 
immense  atelier,  where  worked  always  exclusively 
for  him,  Moret,  the  most  skillful  of  our  picture  re- 
storers, and  one  of  those  whom  the  Musee  should 
employ.  There,  too,  was  the  apartment  of  his 
daughter,  the  fruit  of  his  old  age,  a  Jewess  as  beau- 
tiful as  are  all  the  Jewesses  when  the  Asiatic  type 
reappears  pure  and  noble  in  them.  Noemi,  guarded 
by  two  fanatical  female  Jewish  servants,  had  for 
outpost-guard,  a  Polish  Jew  named  Abramko,  com- 
promised by  an  extraordinary  chance,  in  the  Polish 
insurrection,  and  whom  £lie  Magus  had  rescued  for 
purposes  of  self-interest  Abramko,  the  concierge 
of  this  silent,  gloomy,  and  desolate  house,  occupied 
a  lodge  protected  by  three  dogs  of  remarkable 
ferocity,  one  a  Newfoundland,  the  second  from  the 
Pyrenees,  the  third  an  English  bull-dog. 

These  were  the  precautions  on  which  was  estab- 
lished the  security  of  the  Jew,  who  traveled  from 
home  without  fear,  who  "slept  on  both  ears, "  dread- 
ing no  attempt  against  his  daughter,  his  first 
treasure,  nor  against  his  pictures,  nor  against  his 
gold.  Abramko  received  every  year  two  hundred 


COUSIN  PONS  205 

francs  more  than  the  preceding  year  and  was  to 
receive  nothing  more  at  the  death  of  Magus,  who 
was  meantime  training  him  to  become  the  money- 
lender of  the  quarter.  Abramko  never  admitted  any 
one  into  the  house  without  having  first  examined 
him  through  the  formidable  iron  grating  of  the 
door.  This  concierge,  of  Herculean  strength,  adored 
Magus,  as  Sancho  Panza  adored  Don  Quixote.  The 
dogs,  shut  up  during  the  day,  were  not  fed ;  but  at 
night  Abramko  let  them  out,  and  they  were  com- 
pelled, by  an  astute  arrangement  of  the  old  Jew,  to 
keep  each  one  his  appointed  station — one  in  the 
garden  at  the  foot  of  a  pole  from  the  top  of  which 
hung  a  piece  of  meat,  the  other  in  the  court-yard,  at 
the  foot  of  a  similar  pole,  and  a  third  in  the  great 
hall  on  the  ground  floor.  You  will  understand  that 
these  dogs,  who  in  the  first  place  guarded  the  house 
by  instinct,  were  additionally  guarded  themselves 
by  hunger,  and  that  they  would  not  have  quit,  for  the 
loveliest  female  of  their  race,  their  place  at  the  foot 
of  their  poles  of  Cockaigne ;  they  would  not  have 
left  to  investigate  anything  whatever.  If  a  stranger 
appeared,  the  dogs,  all  three  of  them,  imagined  that 
the  unknown  was  after  their  meat,  which  was  not 
let  down  to  them  till  the  morning  when  Abrarnko 
awoke.  This  infernal  combination  had  an  immense 
advantage.  The  dogs  never  barked.  The  genius 
of  Magus  had  advanced  them  to  the  grade  of  sav- 
ages, and  they  had  become  as  silent  as  a  Mohican. 
Now  we  may  see  what  happened.  On  a  certain 
occasion,  certain  malefactors  emboldened  by  this 


206  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

silence,  thought  it  would  be  an  easy  thing  to 
"crack"  the  strong-box  of  this  Jew.  One  of  them, 
selected  to  lead  the  assault,  climbed  over  the  wall 
of  the  garden  and  started  to  descend  on  the  other 
side;  the  bull-dog  let  him  alone,  although  he  had 
heard  him  perfectly;  but  as  soon  as  the  foot  of  this 
gentleman  came  within  reach  of  his  jaw,  he  bit  it  off 
neatly  and  ate  it  up.  The  thief  had  the  courage  to 
recross  the  wall,  stepping  on  the  bone  of  his  leg 
until  he  fell  fainting  in  the  arms  of  his  comrades, 
who  carried  him  off.  This  Parisian  event,  for  the 
"Gazette  des  Tribunaux"  did  not  fail  to  report  this 
delightful  episode  of  the  Parisian  nights,  was  taken 
for  a  hoax. 

Magus,  at  this  time  seventy-five  years  of  age, 
was  quite  likely  to  live  to  be  one  hundred.  Rich  as 
he  was,  he  lived  like  the  Remonencqs.  Three 
thousand  francs,  including  all  his  luxury  for  his 
daughter,  comprised  all  his  expenses.  No  existence 
was  ever  more  methodical  than  that  of  this  old  man. 
He  arose  at  daybreak,  he  ate  a  piece  of  bread 
rubbed  with  garlic,  a  breakfast  which  lasted  him 
until  the  dinner  hour.  The  dinner  of  a  monastic 
frugality,  was  a  family  repast.  Between  the  hour 
when  he  rose  and  midday,  the  fanatic  employed  his 
time  in  wandering  around  the  apartment  which  was 
adorned  by  his  masterpieces.  He  dusted  everything 
himself,  furniture,  pictures;  he  admired  everything 
in  turn  without  any  sense  of  weariness;  then  he 
descended  into  his  daughter's  apartment  and  intoxi- 
cated himself  with  the  happiness  of  fathers,  after 


COUSIN  PONS  207 

which  he  departed  on  his  expeditions  around  Paris, 
where  he  watched  over  all  the  auction  sales,  went 
to  all  the  exhibitions,  etc.  When  some  masterpiece 
appeared  under  the  conditions  which  he  deemed 
essential,  the  life  of  this  man  became  animated;  he 
had  a  stroke  to  make,  an  affair  to  bring  to  a  conclu- 
sion, a  battle  of  Marengo  to  gain.  He  piled  one 
craftiness  on  another,  in  order  to  obtain  his  new 
Sultana  at  the  lowest  price.  He  possessed  a  map  of 
Europe,  a  map  on  which  the  locality  of  all  the  chefs- 
d'oeuvre  were  marked,  and  he  commissioned  his 
co-religionists  in  every  place  to  watch  over  them  in 
his  interests  for  a  certain  price.  But  what  recom- 
penses for  such  pains ! — 

The  two  lost  pictures  of  Raphael,  so  persistently 
sought  for  by  the  Raphaelists,  Magus  owned  them ! 
He  owned  also  the  original  of  the  Maitresse  du 
Oiorgione,  the  woman  for  whom  the  painter  died, 
and  the  so-called  originals  are  only  copies  of  this 
glorious  canvas,  which  is  worth  five  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  in  the  estimate  of  Magus.  This  Jew 
treasured  the  masterpieces  of  Titian,  "The  En- 
tombment," a  picture  painted  for  Charles  V., 
which  was  sent  by  the  great  master  to  the  great 
Emperor,  accompanied  by  a  letter  written  wholly 
in  Titian's  hand,  which  letter  is  glued  to  the  bottom 
of  the  canvas.  He  has  of  the  same  painter  the 
original  sketch  from  which  all  the  portraits  of 
Philip  II.  were  made.  The  ninety-seven  other 
pictures  were  all  of  this  importance  and  all  equally 
distinguished.  Thus  Magus  scorned  our  Musee, 


208  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

ravished  by  the  sunlight  which  destroys  the  noblest 
pictures,  in  passing  through  the  panes  of  glass, 
whose  action  is  like  that  of  lenses.  No  picture  gal- 
lery is  safe  unless  lighted  from  the  ceiling.  Magus 
closed  and  opened  the  shutters  of  his  museum  him- 
self, displaying  as  much  care  and  as  many  precau- 
tions for  his  pictures  as  he  did  for  his  daughter,  his 
other  idol.  Ah!  the  old  picture-maniac  knew  well 
the  laws  of  painting !  According  to  him,  the  master- 
pieces had  a  life  of  their  own,  their  times  and  sea- 
sons; their  beauty  depended  upon  the  light  which 
came  to  color  them ;  he  spoke  of  them  as  the  Dutch- 
men formerly  spoke  of  their  tulips,  and  he  went  to 
see  such  and  such  a  picture  at  the  very  hour  when 
the  masterpiece  was  resplendent  in  all  its  glory, 
when  the  weather  was  fine  and  clear. 

He  was  himself  a  living  picture  in  the  middle  of 
these  motionless  paintings,  this  little  old  man 
clothed  in  a  shabby  frock-coat,  a  decennial  silk 
waistcoat,  a  pair  of  dirty  trousers,  his  bald  head, 
his  hollow  cheeks,  his  stubby  and  straggling  white 
beard,  his  menacing  and  pointed  chin,  and  mouth 
empty  of  teeth,  his  eyes,  brilliant  as  those  of  his 
dogs,  his  bony,  fleshless  hands,  his  nose,  like  an 
obelisk,  his  skin  wrinkled  and  cold,  smiling  at  these 
beautiful  creations  of  genius!  A  Jew,  surrounded 
by  his  three  millions,  will  always  be  one  of  the 
finest  sights  humanity  can  offer.  Robert  Medal,  our 
great  actor,  sublime  as  he  is,  cannot  attain  to  this 
poesy.  Paris  is  the  city  of  the  world  which  conceals 
the  greatest  number  of  originals  of  this  species 


COUSIN  PONS  209 

having  a  religion  at  their  hearts.  The  "eccentrics" 
of  London  end  always  by  becoming  disgusted  with 
the  objects  of  their  worship,  just  as  they  become  dis- 
gusted with  life  itself;  whereas  in  Paris  these 
monomaniacs  live  forever  with  their  fancies  in  a 
happy  concubinage  of  spirits.  You  will  often  see 
coming  towards  you  here  such  beings  as  Pons  or 
Elie  Magus,  very  poorly  clothed,  the  nose  like  that 
of  the  perpetual  secretary  of  the  French  Academy, 
forever  in  the  air,  seeming  to  care  for  nothing,  t< 
feel  nothing,  paying  no  attention  to  women,  to  the 
shops,  wandering  seemingly  haphazard,  their  pockets 
empty,  their  heads  apparently  still  emptier,  and 
you  ask  yourself  to  what  Parisian  tribe  they  can 
belong.  Very  well,  these  men  are  millionaires,  col- 
lectors, the  most  passionate  individuals  upon  the 
earth,  individuals  who  are  capable  of  venturing 
even  into  the  muddy  ways  watched  by  the  correc- 
tional police  in  order  to  get  possession  of  a  cup,  of 
a  picture,  of  a  rare  treasure,  as  in  fact  6lie  Magus 
did  one  day  in  Germany. 


Such  was  the  expert  to  whom  Remonencq  con- 
ducted mysteriously  Madame  Cibot  Remonencq 
consulted  £lie  Magus  whenever  he  chanced  to  meet 
him  on  the  boulevards.  The  Jew  had  at  various 
times  loaned,  through  Abramko,  certain  sums  of 
money  to  this  ancient  messenger  whose  honesty 
was  known  to  him.  The  Chaussee  des  Minimes 
being  a  few  steps  from  the  Rue  de  Normandie,  the 
two  accomplices  in  this  projected  stroke  arrived 
there  in  ten  minutes. 

"You  are  going  to  see,"  said  Remonencq,  "the 
richest  of  all  the  old  curiosity-dealers,  the  greatest 
connoisseur  there  is  in  Paris." 

Madame  Cibot  was  stupefied  when  she  found  her- 
self in  the  presence  of  a  little  old  man,  wrapped  in  a 
riding-coat  unworthy  of  being  mended  even  by 
Cibot,  who  was  overlooking  the  work  of  his  re- 
storer, a  painter  employed  in  repairing  pictures  in 
a  cold  room  on  this  vast  ground  floor ;  then,  catching 
a  glance  from  his  eyes,  as  full  of  cold  malevolence 
as  those  of  a  cat,  she  trembled. 

"What  do  you  want,  Remonencq?"  he  said. 

"It's  about  estimating  some  pictures;  and  there 
is  only  you  in  Paris  who  could  say  to  a  poor  copper- 
smith like  me  what  he  ought  to  give  for  them  when 
he  has  not,  like  you,  the  thousands  and  hundreds!  " 

"Where  are  they?  "  said  Elie  Magus. 

(21!) 


212  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Here  is  the  concierge  of  the  house  where  their 
owner  lives  and  with  whom  I  have  arranged — " 
"What  is  the  owner's  name?" 
"Monsieur  Pons,"  said  Madame  Cibot 
"I   don't  know  him,"   replied   Magus,   with  an 
indifferent  air,  gently  pressing  at  the  same  time, 
his  own  foot  against  that  of  his  restorer. 

Moret,  this  painter,  knew  the  value  of  Pons's 
collection  and  he  had  suddenly  looked  up.  This 
warning  could  not  have  been  hazarded  but  under  the 
eyes  of  such  a  pair  as  Remonencq  and  Madame 
Cibot  The  Jew  had  taken  the  moral  measure  of 
this  woman  by  a  glance  in  which  his  eye  served 
him  as  the  scales  of  a  money-changer.  The  pair 
were  undoubtedly  ignorant  that  the  good  man  Pons 
and  Magus  had  often  measured  swords.  In  fact, 
these  two  fierce  amateurs  were  filled  with  envy  of 
each  other.  Hence  the  old  Jew  had  just  experienced 
an  internal  shock.  Never  had  he  hoped  to  be  able 
to  penetrate  into  the  seraglio  so  well  guarded.  The 
Pons  collection  was  the  only  one  in  Paris  which 
could  rival  the  Magus  collection.  The  Jew  had 
had,  twenty  years  later  than  Pons,  the  same  idea ; 
but  in  his  quality  of  amateur  dealer,  the  Pons 
collection  had  been  as  tightly  closed  to  him  as  to 
Dusommerard.  Pons  and  Magus  were  both  at 
heart,  jealous  of  all  approach.  Neither  of  them 
liked  that  celebrity  which  is  ordinarily  sought 
by  the  owners  of  choice  cabinets.  To  be  able  to 
examine  the  magnificent  collection  of  the  poor 
musician  was  for  filie  Magus  the  same  happiness 


COUSIN  PONS  213 

as  would  be  that  of  an  amateur  of  women  to 
be  able  to  slip  into  the  boudoir  of  a  beautiful  mis- 
tress whom  his  friend  conceals  from  him.  The  great 
respect  which  Remonencq  showed  to  this  strange 
personage  and  the  influence  which  all  real  power, 
even  the  most  mysterious,  exercises,  made  Madame 
Cibot  obedient  and  complying.  She  lost  the  auto- 
cratic tone  with  which  she  was  in  the  habit  of  con- 
versing with  the  tenants  and  her  two  gentlemen, 
she  accepted  the  conditions  of  Magus,  and  promised 
to  introduce  him  into  the  Pons  collection  that  very 
day.  It  was  admitting  the  enemy  into  the  heart  of 
the  fortress,  it  was  plunging  a  poignard  into  the 
heart  of  Pons,  who  for  the  last  ten  years  had  strictly 
forbidden  her  to  admit  any  one,  no  matter  who, 
who  carried  always  with  him  his  keys,  and  whom 
she  had  hitherto  obeyed,  although  she  had  privately 
shared  the  opinions  of  Schmucke  on  the  subject  of 
bric-a-brac.  The  fact  was  that  the  good  Schmucke 
in  discoursing  about  these  magnificent  "kneeck- 
knocks"  and  deploring  the  folly  of  Pons,  had  incul- 
cated his  contempt  for  all  these  antiquities  into 
Madame  Cibot's  breast  and  thus  for  a  long  time  had 
protected  the  Musee-Pons  from  all  invasion. 

Since  Pons  had  been  confined  to  his  bed,  Schmucke 
did  his  friend's  work  at  the  theatre  and  in  the 
schools.  The  poor  German,  who  saw  the  sick  man 
only  in  the  morning  and  at  dinner,  endeavored  to 
make  up  for  everything  by  keeping  together  their 
common  clientele;  but  all  his  strength  was  absorbed 
by  this  task,  so  much  did  his  grief  overwhelm  him. 


214  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

In  seeing  this  poor  man  so  sad,  the  pupils  and  the 
people  at  the  theatre — all  of  them  informed  of  the 
illness  of  Rons — asked  for  news  of  him,  and  the 
grief  of  the  pianist  was  so  great  that  he  obtained  even 
from  the  indifferent,  the  same  grimace  of  conven- 
tional sensibility  which  is  bestowed  in  Paris  on  the 
greatest  catastrophes.  The  very  principle  of  the 
life  of  the  good  German  was  attacked  in  him  as 
well  as  in  Pons.  Schmucke  suffered  at  once  from 
his  own  grief  and  in  his  friend's  sickness.  Thus 
he  would  speak  of  Pons  during  the  .half  of  the  lesson 
he  was  giving;  he  interrupted  so  artlessly  a  demon- 
stration, to  ask  of  himself  how  his  friend  was  feel- 
ing, that  the  young  school-girl  listened  with  interest 
to  his  account  of  Pons's  sickness.  Between  two 
lessons  he  would  rush  to  the  Rue  de  Normandie  to 
see  Pons  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Frightened  at 
the  emptiness  of  their  common  purse,  and  alarmed 
by  Madame  Cibot,  who  for  the  last  fortnight  had 
been  increasing  to  her  utmost,  the  expenses  of  the 
sickness,  the  piano-professor  felt  his  inward  an- 
guish dominated  by  a  courage  of  which  he  would 
never  have  believed  himself  capable.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  was  anxious  to  earn  money  so 
that  funds  might  not  be  lacking  in  the  household. 
When  some  school-girl,  really  touched  by  the  situa- 
tion of  the  two  friends,  would  ask  of  Schmucke  how 
he  could  leave  Pons  all  alone,  he  replied  with  the 
sublime  smile  of  the  dupes : 

"Montenmoiselle,  vehaf  Montame  Zipod!  a  dray- 
zure!  a  bear! !  Bonsees  daken  gareof  lige  a  brince." 


COUSIN  PONS  215 

So,  while  Schmucke  was  trotting  the  streets,  the 
Cibot  was  mistress  of  the  apartment  and  of  the  sick 
man.  How  could  Pons,  who  had  eaten  nothing  for 
fifteen  days  and  who  lay  helpless,  so  that  she  was 
obliged  to  lift  him  herself  and  place  him  on  a  sofa 
while  she  made  his  bed,  how  could  he  watch  his 
soi-disant  guardian  angel?  Naturally,  she  had 
made  her  visit  to  dlie  Magus  while  Schmucke  was 
eating  his  breakfast 


She  returned  just  at  the  moment  when  the  Ger- 
man was  bidding  the  sick  man  good-bye;  for,  ever 
since  the  revelation  of  the  possible  fortune  of  Pons, 
she  had  no  longer  left  her  celibate,  she  brooded  over 
him  like  a  hen!  She  settled  herself  on  a  comforta- 
ble sofa  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  diverted  Pons 
by  retailing  to  him  all  that  sort  of  gossip  in  which 
such  women  excel.  Grown  wheedling,  gentle, 
attentive,  anxious,  she  wound  herself  into  the  con- 
fidence of  the  good  Pons  with  a  Machiavellian  clev- 
erness, as  we  shall  presently  see.  Frightened  by 
the  prediction  of  the  Grand  Deal  of  Madame  Fon- 
taine, she  had  promised  herself  that  she  would  suc- 
ceed in  her  plans  by  none  but  gentle  means,  by  a 
wickedness  purely  moral,  to  get  herself  mentioned 
in  the  testament  of  her  gentleman.  Her  ten  years' 
ignorance  of  the  value  of  the  Pons  museum  she  con- 
sidered as  ten  years  of  disinterested  attachment 
and  probity,  and  she  now  proposed  to  draw  upon 
that  magnificent  capital.  Since  the  day  when 
Remonencq  with  a  golden  word  had  hatched  in  the 
heart  of  this  woman  a  serpent  hidden  in  its  shell  for 
twenty-five  years, — the  desire  of  being  rich, — she 
had  nourished  this  serpent  on  all  the  poisonous 
leaven  which  strews  the  bottom  of  human  hearts, 
and  we  shall  now  see  how  she  executed  the  advice 
which  this  serpent  hissed  in  her  ear. 
(217) 


218  THE   POOR  RELATIONS 

"Well,  has  he  taken  his  drink,  my  cherubin? 
Is  he  better  ? "  she  said  to  Schmucke. 

"No  petter,  my  tear  Montame  Zipod,  no  petter," 
answered  the  German,  wiping  away  a  tear. 

"Bah!  you  are  too  easily  frightened,  my  dear 
monsieur.  You  must  take  things  easier — if  Cibot 
lay  at  the  point  of  death  I  couldn't  be  more  desolate 
than  you  are.  Come!  our  cherubin  has  a  good 
constitution.  And  then,  don't  you  see,  he  seems  to 
have  been  virtuous !  you  never  know  how  long  the 
virtuous  folks  can  live!  He  is  very  sick,  that's 
true,  but  with  all  the  care  I  give  him  I  will  pull 
him  through.  You  be  easy  and  go  to  your  work. 
I  will  keep  him  company  and  see  that  he  drinks  his 
pints  of  barley  water." 

"Put  vor  you,  I  moost  tie  of  anchziety,"  said 
Schmucke,  pressing  the  hand  of  his  good  house- 
keeper in  his  own  with  a  look  full  of  confidence. 

The  Cibot  entered  the  sick  man's  bedroom,  wip- 
ing her  eyes. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Madame  Cibot?  "  said  Pons. 

"It  is  Monsieur  Schmucke  that  has  upset  me. 
He's  crying  over  you  as  if  you  were  dead!"  she 
said.  "Well,  though  you  are  not  well,  you  are  not 
yet  sick  enough  to  be  cried  over ;  but  that  has  affected 
me  so.  Mon  Dieu !  am  I  not  a  fool  to  love  people 
so  much,  and  to  care  more  for  you  than  I  do  for 
Cibot!  For,  after  all,  you  are  nothing  to  me,  we 
are  related  only  through  the  first  woman ;  and  yet, 
here  I  am  all  upside  down  as  soon  as  anything's  the 
matter  with  you,  on  my  word  of  honor.  I'd  cut  off 


COUSIN  PONS  2ig 

my  hand, — the  left  one  of  course, — here  before  you, 
just  to  see  you  coming  and  going,  eating  and  filibus- 
tering with  them  dealers  like  you  used  to. — If  I  had 
ever  had  a  child  I  think  that  I  should  have  loved  it 
as  I  love  you,  just!  Drink  this,  my  darling,  drink 
it  all  down.  Will  you  drink,  monsieur!  Didn't  M. 
Poulain  say  'if  he  does  not  want  to  go  to  Pere- 
Lachaise,  M.  Pons  must  drink  every  day  as  many 
pailfuls  of  water  as  an  Auvergnat  sells.'  Come, 
then,  you  must  drink! — " 

"But  I  do  drink,  my  good  Cibot — so  much  and 
so  much  that  my  stomach  is  drowned — " 

"There,  that's  right,"  said  the  woman,  putting 
down  the  empty  glass.  "You  will  save  your  life 
that  way.  Dr.  Poulain  had  a  patient  like  you  who 
never  had  no  nursing,  whom  his  children  abandoned, 
and  he  died  of  this  very  disease — just  because  he 
wouldn't  drink!  So  you  must  drink,  you  see,  my 
lamb! — they  buried  him  only  two  months  ago. — 
Don't  you  know  that  if  you  die,  my  dear  monsieur, 
you  will  carry  off  with  you  that  good  Schmucke? — 
He  is  like  a  baby,  word  of  honor.  Ah,  how  he 
loves  you,  that  dear  lamb  of  a  man!  no,  never 
woman  loved  man  like  that! — He  can't  eat  nor 
drink,  he  has  grown  thin  in  the  last  two  weeks,  as 
much  as  you,  who  are  only  skin  and  bones — That 
makes  me  jealous,  for  1  am  so  much  attached  to 
you;  but  I  haven't  come  to  that  yet,  I  haven't  yet 
lost  my  appetite, — on  the  contrary!  What  with 
running  up  and  down  stairs  all  day,  I  get  so  tired  in 
my  legs  that  in  the  evening  I  just  tumble  down  like  a 


220  THE   POOR  RELATIONS 

lump  of  lead.  Everybody  can  see  how  I  neglect  my 
poor  Cibot  for  you,  so  that  Mademoiselle  Remonencq 
has  to  get  him  his  victuals,  and  he  grumbles  at  me 
because  everything  is  bad !  As  for  that,  I  tell  him 
we  should  all  learn  how  to  suffer  for  others  and  that 
you  are  much  too  sick  to  be  left  to  yourself — And 
then  you  are  not  well  enough  for  not  to  have  a 
nurse!  I  would  like  to  see  myself  letting  you  pay 
a  nurse  here,  I  who  have  taken  care  of  you  and 
your  affairs  for  the  last  ten  years — And  they  think 
of  nothing  but  their  mouth !  they  eat  for  ten,  they 
are  always  wanting  their  wine,  their  sugar,  their 
warming  pans,  their  easy  times — And  then  how 
they  rob  the  sick  people,  when  the  sick  people  will 
not  put  them  in  their  wills — Get  a  nurse  in  here  for 
to-day,  but  to-morrow  you  would  find  a  picture, 
some  curiosity  or  other  gone — " 

"Oh,  Madame  Cibot,"  cried  Pons,  beside  himself 
at  the  idea.  "Don't  leave  me. — Don't  let  anybody 
touch  anything  here! — " 

"I  am  here,"  answered  the  Cibot,  "as  long  as  I 
have  the  strength  I  will  be  here! — be  easy!  Mon- 
sieur Poulain,  who  maybe  had  an  eye  on  your 
treasures,  didn't  he  want  me  to  get  you  a  nurse ! — 
how  I  snuffed  him  out  for  you !  'There  ain't  no  one 
but  me,'  I  said  to  him,  'that  monsieur  wants,  he 
knows  my  ways,  and  I  know  his. '  And  he  held  his 
tongue.  But  a  nurse, — they  are  all  thieves !  I  hate 
them  kind  of  women! — You  will  see  how  schem- 
ing they  are.  Once  there  was  an  old  gentleman — 
notice  that  it  was  Dr.  Poulain  who  told  me  this — 


COUSIN  PONS  221 

now,  a  Madame  Sabatier,  a  woman  thirty-six  years 
old,  who  used  to  sell  slippers  at  the  Palais — you 
know  the  row  of  shops  they  have  demolished  down 
at  the  Palais—?" 

Pons  made  an  affirmative  sign. 

"Good.  Well,  that  woman  did  not  get  on  because 
of  her  man,  who  drank  all  the  time  and  who  died  at 
last,  so  they  say,  of  spontaneous  imbustion  ;  but  she 
was  a  handsome  woman,  it  must  be  said,  only  that 
did  not  profit  her,  although  she  had,  it  was  said, 
lawyers  for  her  good  friends — So,  when  it  came  to 
the  break-up,  she  went  out  nursing  women  in 
childbed,  and  lived  when  at  home,  in  the  Rue  Barre- 
du-Bec.  She  went  out  to  nurse  like  that,  and  an 
old  gentleman,  who  had,  saving  your  presence,  a 
disease  of  the  lurinairy  organs,  and  they  sounded 
him  like  an  artesian  well,  and  he  had  to  be  taken 
such  care  of  that  she  had  to  sleep  on  a  cot-bed  in 
his  chamber.  Is  it  believable,  such  things  as  that! 
But  you  will  tell  me,  'men  don't  respect  nothing, 
they  are  all  so  selfish ! '  Well  now,  you  see,  in 
talking  with  him,  you  will  understand  she  was 
always  there,  she  cheered  him  up,  she  told  him 
stories,  she  got  him  to  talk,  just  as  we  are  here, 
that  is  so,  both  of  them  chatting — She  learned  that 
his  nephews, — the  sick  man  had  nephews, — were 
monsters,  that  they  worried  him,  and,  to  cut  a  long 
story  short,  that  his  sickness  came  from  his 
nephews.  Very  well,  my  dear  monsieur,  she  saved 
that  gentleman,  she  became  his  wife,  and  they 
have  a  child  which  is  superb,  and  to  whom  Mame 


222  THE   POOR  RELATIONS 

Bordevin,  who  keeps  the  butcher-shop,  corner  of  the 
Rue  Chariot,  and  who  was  a  relative  to  that  woman, 
was  godmother — And  wasn't  that  a  piece  of  luck! — 
I,  I  am  married;  but  I  ain't  got  no  children,  and  I 
can  say  this,  that  it's  Cibot's  fault,  who  loves  me 
too  much,  for  if  I  wanted  to — well,  that's  enough. 
But  what  should  we  ever  have  done  with  a  family, 
I  and  my  Cibot,  when  we  haven't  got  a  sou  to  our 
name,  after  thirty  years  of  honesty,  my  dear  mon- 
sieur !  But  what  comforts  me  is  that  I  have  never 
taken  a  Hard  of  anybody  else's.  Never  have  I  done 
wrong  to  any  one — Now,  just  suppose  that  one 
could  say, — since  in  six  weeks  you  will  be  on  your 
pins  again,  sauntering  along  the  boulevard; — very 
well,  that  you  put  me  in  your  will,  well,  now,  I 
shouldn't  have  any  peace  till  I'd  found  your  heirs 
to  give  it  back  to  them — so  much  I  am  afraid  of 
anything  that  I  haven't  earned  by  the  sweat  of  my 
brow.  You  will  say  to  me,  'But,  Mame  Cibot,  do 
not  torment  yourself  like  that;  you  have  fairly 
earned  it,  you  have  taken  care  of  those  gentlemen 
as  though  they  were  your  own  babies,  you  must 
have  saved  them  a  thousand  francs  a  year — '  For 
in  my  place,  don't  you  see,  monsieur,  there  would 
have  been  many  cooks  that  has  got  a  thousand 
francs  laid  by.  'It's  only  fair  then,  if  that  worthy 
gentleman  has  left  you  a  little  annuity! — '  they 
would  say  to  me,  we  may  suppose.  Very  well. 
No,  I,  I  am  disinterested, — I  don't  know  how  women 
can  do  good  for  their  own  interests — That  is  no 
longer  doing  good  at  all,  is  it,  monsieur  ? — I  do  not 


COUSIN  PONS  223 

go  to  the  church,  I !  I  haven't  no  time;  but  my  con- 
science tells  me  what  is  right — There  now,  do  not 
agitate  yourself  like  that,  my  lamb! — do  not  scratch 
yourself! — Mon  Dieu!  how  yellow  you  are!  you 
are  so  yellow  that  you  are  getting  brown — How 
queer  it  is  that  one  can  become  in  twenty  days  like 
a  lemon! — Well,  honesty  is  the  treasure  of  poor 
people,  they  need  to  possess  something!  Well,  let's 
suppose  you  came  to  the  worst,  I  would  be  the  first 
to  say  to  you  that  you  should  give  everything  that 
belongs  to  you  to  Monsieur  Schmucke.  It  is  your 
duty  to  do  so,  for  he  is  himself  all  the  family  you've 
got!  He  loves  you,  that  man,  like  a  dog  loves  his 
master." 

"Ah,  yes!"  said  Rons,  "I've  never  been  loved 
in  my  life  but  by  him — " 

"Oh,  monsieur!"  said  Madame  Cibot,  "you  are 
not  kind;  and  I,  then,  don't  I  love  you? — " 

"I  do  not  say  that,  my  dear  Madame  Cibot — " 

"Good !  There,  you  go  and  take  me  for  a  servant, 
a  common  cook,  as  if  I  had  no  heart!  Ah,  Mon 
Dieu!  split  yourself,  then,  for  eleven  years,  taking 
care  of  two  old  bachelors !  think  of  nothing  but  their 
comfort, — did  I  not  rummage  over  ten  fruit  shops  and 
let  people  make  jokes  on  me  just  to  get  you  the  best 
Brie  cheese,  didn't  I  go  all  the  way  to  the  Halle,  so 
that  you  might  have  fresh  butter;  and  take  care  of 
everything  so  that  in  ten  years  I  have  broken  noth- 
ing for  you,  or  even  chipped  a  single  thing?  Be, 
then,  like  a  mother  to  her  children!  And  you  will 
for  all  this  hear  yourself  called  'My  dear  Madame 


224  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Cibot,'  which  proves  plainly  that  there  is  not  a  bit 
of  feeling  for  you  in  the  heart  of  the  old  gentleman 
whom  you  have  taken  care  of  like  a  son  of  a  king, 
for  the  little  King  of  Rome  was  never  cared  for  as 
you've  been! — Will  you  bet  that  he  was  taken 
care  of  as  you  ? — Why,  the  proof  is  that  he  died  in 
the  flower  of  his  age. — Look  here,  monsieur,  you 
are  not  just — You  are  an  ungrateful !  It  is  because 
I  am  only  a  poor  concierge.  Ah,  Mon  Dieu !  you 
then  think,  too,  that  we  are  no  better  than  dogs? — " 

"But,  my  dear  Madame  Cibot — " 

"Come,  now.  You  who  know  such  a  lot,  explain 
to  me  why  we  are  always  treated  like  that,  we  con- 
cierges, why  no  one  believes  that  we  have  any 
feeling;  why  do  people  make  fun  of  us,  in  these 
times  when  they  are  talking  about  equality! — I,  I 
am  not  worth,  then,  as  much  as  any  other  woman ! 
I,  who  was  one  of  the  handsomest  women  in  Paris, 
so  that  they  called  me  'the  beautiful  oyster-girl,' 
and  I  used  to  receive  seven  or  eight  declarations  of 
love  every  day! — And  if  I  wished  to  have  them 
still !  See,  monsieur,  you  know  well  that  scrap  of 
an  iron-dealer,  who  is  down  at  the  door?  Very 
well!  If  I  was  a  widow,  just  suppose,  he  would 
marry  me  with  his  eyes  shut,  so  much  he  has  them 
opened  for  me  that  he  says  to  me  every  day:  'Oh, 
what  fine  arms  you've  got,  Mame  Cibot! — I  dreamed 
last  night  that  they  were  bread  and  that  I  was  the 
butter  being  spread  on  them ! — '  Look,  monsieur, 
there's  a  pair  of  arms  for  you! — " 

She  turned  up  her  sleeve  and  showed  the  most 


COUSIN  PONS  225 

magnificent  arm  in  the  world,  as  white  and  as  fresh 
as  her  hand  was  red  and  wrinkled;  an  arm  plump, 
round,  and  dimpled,  and  which,  coming  forth  from 
its  swathing  of  coarse  merino,  as  a  blade  is  drawn 
from  its  scabbard,  dazzled  the  eyes  of  poor  Rons, 
who  dared  not  look  at  it  too  long. 

"And,"  she  resumed,  "which  has  opened  as  many 
hearts  as  my  knife  has  opened  oysters!  Very  well, 
it  belongs  to  Cibot,  and  I  have  been  doing  very 
wrong  to  neglect  that  poor  dear  man  who  would 
throw  himself  over  a  precipice  at  the  first  word  I 
would  say  to  him,  for  you,  monsieur,  who  call  me 
'my  dear  Madame  Cibot,'  when  I  have  done  impos- 
sible things  for  you — " 

"Do  listen  to  me,"  said  the  sick  man,  "I  can't 
call  you  my  mother  nor  my  wife — " 

"No,  never  in  my  life,  never  in  all  my  days,  will 
I  attach  myself  again! — " 

"But,  let  me  speak!"  said  Pons,  "see,  I  have  just 
spoken  of  Schmucke. " 

"Monsieur  Schmucke!  Ah,  there's  a  heart!" 
said  she.  "Now  he  loves  me,  he  does,  because  he 
is  poor!  It  is  riches  which  makes  men  unfeeling, 
and  you  are  rich!  Very  well,  have  a  nurse,  you 
will  see  what  a  life  she  will  lead  you!  and  how  she 
will  torment  you  like  a  flea — The  doctor  will  say 
that  you  must  drink,  and  she  will  only  give  you 
something  to  eat!  She  will  get  you  buried  so  she 
can  rob  you !  You  don't  deserve  to  have  a  Madame 
Cibot! — Go  on!  When  Monsieur  Poulain  comes 
you  will  tell  him  to  send  you  a  nurse!" 
is 


226  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"But  sacrebleu!  just  listen  to  me,"  cried  the  sick 
man  in  anger.  "I  was  not  speaking  of  women, 
when  I  mentioned  my  friend  Schmucke! — I  know 
well  enough  that  there  are  no  other  hearts  that  truly 
love  me  but  yours  and  Schmucke's! — " 

"Do  not  irritate  yourself  like  that!"  cried  the 
Cibot,  throwing  herself  upon  Pons  and  laying  him 
back  in  his  bed  by  main  strength. 

"How  can  it  be  that  I  do  not  love  you? — "  said 
poor  Pons. 

"You  love  me,  then,  really  and  truly? — There, 
there,  forgive  me,  monsieur,"  she  said,  weeping 
and  wiping  her  eyes.  "Very  well,  yes,  you  love 
me,  just  as  one  loves  a  servant,  that's  all ! — a  ser- 
vant to  whom  you  throw  an  annuity  of  six  hundred 
francs,  like  a  piece  of  bread  thrown  to  a  dog  in  his 
kennel!—" 

"Oh,  Madame  Cibot,"  cried  Pons,  "what  do  you 
take  me  for !  You  don't  know  me ! " 

"Ah,  you  do  love  me  better  than  that! "  she  ex- 
claimed, meeting  Pons'seyes;  "you  do  love  your 
good,  fat  Cibot,  like  a  mother?  Very  well,  that's 
right,  I  am  your  mother,  you  are  both  my  children ! 
— Ah,  if  I  did  but  know  those  who  have  caused  you 
unhappiness,  I  would  risk  getting  myself  before  the 
Assize  Court  and  even  in  the  jail,  for  I  would  tear 
their  eyes  out ! — those  people  deserve  to  be  put  to 
death  at  the  Barriere  Saint- Jacques!  and  even  that 
is  too  good  for  such  villains ! — You  so  good,  so  ten- 
der, for  you  have  a  heart  of  gold,  you  were  created 
and  put  into  the  world  to  make  some  woman  happy 


COUSIN  PONS  227 

— yes,  you  would  have  rendered  her  happy — that 
may  be  seen,  you  were  cut  out  for  it — from  the 
very  first  when  I  saw  how  you  lived  with  Monsieur 
Schmucke  I  said  to  myself,  'No,  Monsieur  Pons  has 
wasted  his  life.  He  was  made  for  a  good  husband — ' 
Come !  you  are  a  man  to  love  a  woman !  " 

"Ah,  yes!"  said  Pons,  "and  yet  I  never  had 
one!—" 

"Really?"  said  the  Cibot  with  an  insinuating 
air,  drawing  nearer  to  him,  and  taking  his  hand, 
"you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  have  a  mistress  who 
would  do  anything  for  her  friend?  Is  it  possible! 
I,  in  your  place,  I  would  not  go  from  here  into  the 
other  world  without  having  known  the  greatest  hap- 
piness that  there  is  on  earth! — Poor  lamb!  If  I  was 
what  I  have  been,  on  my  honor,  I'd  leave  Cibot  for 
you!  And,  with  a  nose  cut  like  that,  for  you  have 
a  fine,  proud  nose !  How  have  you  managed,  my 
poor  cherub  ? — You  will  tell  me,  'all  the  women  do 
not  know  about  men,'  and  it  is  a  misfortune  that 
they  do  marry  so  at  haphazard,  it's  pitiful  to  see 
them.  I,  I  thought  you  had  mistresses  by  the 
dozen,  dancers,  actresses,  duchesses — seeing  how 
much  you  were  away ! — When  I  saw  you  going  out, 
I  used  to  say  always  to  Cibot,  'See,  there  is  Mon- 
sieur Pons,  who  is  going  gallivanting!'  Honor 
bright!  1  said  that,  I  was  so  sure  that  you  were  a 
favorite  with  the  women!  Why,  heaven  created 
you  for  love — why,  my  dear  little  monsieur,  I  saw 
that  the  day  on  which  you  dined  here  for  the  first 
time.  Oh,  weren't  you  touched  with  the  pleasure 


228  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

you  gave  to  Monsieur  Schmucke !  And  he,  wasn't 
he  crying  about  it  still  the  next  day,  and  saying  to 
me,  'Montame  Zipod,  he  tid  tine  here,'  that  I  cried 
for  it  myself,  just  like  a  fool,  also.  And  how  mis- 
erable he  was  when  you  recommenced  your  wan- 
derings and  went  out  to  dine  in  society!  Poor 
man !  Never  was  such  desolation  seen !  Ah,  you 
have  good  reason  to  make  him  your  heir!  Yes, 
indeed,  he  is  a  whole  family  for  you  in  himself,  this 
worthy,  this  dear  old  man! — Do  not  forget  him! 
because,  if  you  do,  God  will  never  receive  you  into 
his  paradise,  where  he  never  ought  to  let  any  one 
enter  who  hasn't  been  grateful  toward  his  friends 
and  left  them  an  income." 

Pons  made  vain  efforts  to  reply,  the  Cibot  talked 
as  the  wind  blows.  If  means  have  been  invented 
to  arrest  the  motion  of  steam-engines,  that  of  stop- 
ping the  tongue  of  a  concierge  would  be  too  much 
for  the  genius  of  all  the  inventors. 

"I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say!"  she  re- 
sumed. "Now,  it  don't  kill  nobody,  my  dear  mon- 
sieur, to  make  his  testament  when  he  is  sick ;  and 
if  I  was  in  your  place  I  would,  for  fear  of  accidents, 
I  would  not  want  to  abandon  that  poor  sheep,  no, 
for  he  is  the  blessed  fool  of  the  good  Lord ;  he  knows 
nothing  of  anything;  I  would  not  want  to  leave  him 
to  the  mercy  of  those  rascals,  the  business  men,  nor 
to  relations  neither,  who  are  the  scum  of  the  earth ! 
See  now,  has  there  been  any  one  of  them  who  has 
been  here  to  see  you  for  twenty  days  ? — And  you 
are  going  to  give  to  them  your  property !  Do  you 


COUSIN  PONS  229 

know,  they  say  that  everything  that  is  here  is 
worth  something! " 

"Well,  yes,"  said  Pons. 

"Remonencq,  who  knows  you  are  an  amateur, 
and  who  deals  in  such  things,  says  that  he  would 
give  you  thirty  thousand  francs  of  annuity  if  you 
would  let  him  have  your  pictures  after  your  death — 
now  there's  a  chance!  In  your  place  I'd  take  it! 
But  I  thought  at  first  that  he  was  making  fun  of 
me  when  he  said  that  to  me — you  ought  to  tell  Mon- 
sieur Schmucke  of  the  value  of  all  these  things  here, 
for  he  is  a  man  that  they  would  cheat  like  a  baby; 
he  has  not  the  least  idea  what  the  beautiful  things 
you  have  here  are  worth!  He  has  so  little  idea  of 
it  that  he  would  give  them  away  for  a  song,  unless, 
for  love  of  you,  he  would  keep  them  all  his  life,  if 
he  should  live  after  you,  that  is,  for  your  death  will 
kill  him !  But  I  shall  be  here,  I,  I'll  protect  him 
against  and  from  everything, — I  and  Cibot" 

"Dear  Madame  Cibot,"  replied  Pons,  touched  by 
this  frightful  garrulity,  through  which  seemed  to 
run  the  simple  good  feeling  characteristic  of  the 
lower  classes,  "what  would  become  of  me  without 
you  and  Schmucke? " 

"Ah,  we  are  the  only  friends  you've  got  in  this 
world !  that  is  true  enough !  But  two  kind  hearts 
are  worth  all  the  families  put  together — don't  talk 
tome  of  families!  They  are  like  the  tongue,  as 
the  old  actor  said — all  that  there  is  of  the  best  and  of 
the  worst — Where,  then,  are  your  relatives?  Have 
you  any  relatives? — I  have  never  seen  them — " 


230  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"It  is  they  who  have  laid  me  on  a  sick  bed!" 
cried  Pons,  with  a  profound  bitterness. 

"Ah,  then  you  have  got  relations! — "  said  the 
Cibot,  starting  up  as  if  her  seat  had  been  of  iron 
suddenly  made  red  hot.  "Ah,  they  must  be  a  nice 
set,  your  relations!  See  there!  here  are  twenty 
days,  yes,  this  morning  it  is  twenty  days,  that  you 
have  been  at  death's  door,  and  they  ain't  none  of 
them  come  to  ask  you  how  you  are !  That  is  a 
little  stronger  than  coffee,  that  is! — But  in  your 
place,  I  would  sooner  leave  all  my  money  to  the 
foundling  hospital  than  to  give  them  one  liard! " 

"Well,  my  dear  Madame  Cibot,  I  am  going  to 
leave  all  that  I  possess  to  my  young  cousin,  the 
daughter  of  my  first  cousin,  the  President  Camusot, 
you  know,  the  magistrate  who  came  here  one  morn- 
ing about  two  months  ago." 

"Ah,  a  little  fat  man  who  sent  his  servants  to  beg 
your  pardon — for  the  stupidity  of  his  wife — how 
the  waiting-maid  asked  me  questions  about  you,  an 
affected  old  thing,  whom  I  had  a  great  mind  to  dust 
her  velvet  cloak  for  her  with  the  handle  of  my 
broom!  Did  any  one  ever  see  a  waiting-maid 
before  wear  a  velvet  cloak  ?  No,  on  my  word  of 
honor,  the  world's  turned  upside  down !  what's  the 
use  of  making  revolutions?  Dine  twice  a  day,  if 
you  can,  you  rich  guzzlers!  But  I  say  that  the 
laws  are  all  useless,  that  there  is  nothing  any  more 
sacred,  if  Louis-Philippe  don't  keep  up  a  proper 
distinction  of  classes;  for,  in  fact,  if  we  are  all 
equal,  is  it  not  so,  monsieur,  a  waiting-maid  ought 


COUSIN  PONS  231 

not  to  have  a  velvet  cloak  when  I,  Madame  Cibot, 
with  thirty  years  of  honesty  to  boast  of,  I  haven't 
any — There's  a  pretty  state  of  things!  People 
ought  to  be  seen  for  what  they  are.  A  lady's  maid 
is  a  lady's  maid,  just  as  I,  I  am  a  concierge !  Why 
do  they  wear  their  epaulettes  with  a  fringe  of  gold 
tassels  in  the  army?  Everybody  in  their  own 
rank,  I  say!  See,  now!  Do  you  want  me  to  tell 
you  what  will  be  the  fine  end  of  all  this  ?  Very 
well.  France  will  be  ruined ! — And  under  the  Em- 
peror, is  it  not  so,  monsieur,  things  went  different? 
Thus  I  said  to  Cibot:  'Look  here,  do  you  see,  my 
man,  a  house  in  which  there  are  lady's  maids  in 
velvet  cloaks,  there  are  people  without  no  bowels  of 
compassion — '  " 

"Without  bowels  of  compassion,  that  is  it," 
replied  Rons. 

And  Rons  related  all  his  griefs  and  his  mortifica- 
tions to  Madame  Cibot,  who  poured  forth  invectives 
against  the  relations  and  testified  the  most  extreme 
tenderness  at  each  phase  of  this  melancholy  recital. 
Finally,  she  wept! 


To  understand  this  sudden  intimacy  between  the 
old  musician  and  Madame  Cibot,  it  is  enough  to 
consider  the  situation  of  a  celibate  grievously  ill, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  stretched  upon  a  bed  of 
suffering,  alone  in  the  world,  having  to  pass  each 
day  face  to  face  with  his  own  thoughts,  and  finding 
this  day  all  the  longer  that  he  was  delivered  up  to 
the  indefinable  sufferings  with  which  liver  diseases 
blacken  even  the  brightest  lives,  and  that,  deprived 
of  his  numerous  occupations,  he  had  fallen  into  the 
Parisian  marasmus,  he  longed  for  all  that  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  see  gratuitously  in  the  streets 
of  Paris.  This  profound  and  gloomy  solitude,  this 
suffering,  whose  effects  are  felt  even  more  in  the 
moral  than  in  the  physical  being,  the  inanition  of 
life — all  this  drives  a  celibate,  and,  above  all,  one 
who  is  already  feeble  in  character  and  whose  heart 
is  tender  and  credulous,  to  attach  himself  to  who- 
ever takes  care  of  him,  just  as  a  drowning  man 
clings  to  a  plank.  Thus  Pons  listened  with  eager- 
ness to  all  Madame  Cibot's  gossip.  Schmucke, 
Madame  Cibot,  and  the  Doctor  Poulain  were  to  him 
the  whole  of  humanity,  as  his  bed-room  was  the 
universe.  If,  usually,  all  sick  persons  concentrate 
their  attention  on  the  little  round  which  their  eyes 
can  see,  and  if  their  egotism  takes  the  form  of  sub- 
ordinating themselves  to  the  people  and  the  things 
(233) 


234  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

of  that  sick  room,  we  may  imagine  of  what  an  old 
bachelor  is  capable  without  domestic  affections, 
and  who  has  never  known  love.  In  the  course  of 
twenty  days,  Rons  had  been  brought,  at  moments, 
to  regret  that  he  had  not  married  Madeleine  Vivet! 
Therefore,  in  these  same  twenty  days,  Madame 
Cibot  had  already  gained  an  immense  hold  over  the 
patient's  mind,  who  saw  himself  lost  without  her ; 
for,  as  to  Schmucke,  he  was  only  a  second  self  for 
the  poor  sick  man.  The  wonderful  art  of  the  Cibot 
consisted,  unknown,  perhaps,  to  herself,  in  giving 
utterance  to  Pons's  own  thoughts. 

"Ah,  here  comes  the  doctor,"  she  said,  as  the 
bell  rang. 

She  left  Pons  all  alone,  knowing  perfectly  well 
that  the  Jew  and  Remonencq  had  arrived. 

"Don't  make  any  noise,  gentlemen,"  she  said, 
"lest  he  should  suspect  something!  for  he  is  mighty 
sharp  when  it  is  anything  about  his  treasures." 

"It  will  be  enough  just  to  walk  through  the 
room,"  said  the  Jew,  who  had  come  provided  with 
an  opera  glass  and  a  magnifier. 

The  room  which  held  the  chief  part  of  the  Pons 
collection  was  one  of  those  ancient  salons  such  as 
architects  employed  by  the  French  nobility  designed, 
twenty-five  feet  wide  by  thirty  long,  and  thirteen 
feet  in  height  The  pictures  which  Pons  possessed, 
to  the  number  of  sixty-seven,  were  hung  on  the 
four  walls  of  this  salon,  which  was  paneled  in  wood 
and  painted  in  white  and  gold.  But  the  white  yel- 
lowed, the  gold  reddened,  with  time,  and  offered  only 


COUSIN  PONS  235 

harmonious  tones  which  did  not  conflict  with  the 
pictures.  Fourteen  statues  raised  on  their  columns 
were  placed  either  in  the  angles  of  the  room  or  be- 
tween the  pictures,  on  pedestals  made  by  Boulle. 
Buffets  of  ebony,  all  carved  and  of  a  royal  richness, 
adorned  the  lower  part  of  the  walls  to  the  height  of 
the  elbow.  These  buffets  contained  the  curiosities. 
In  the  middle  of  the  salon  a  row  of  credence-tables 
in  carved  wood  presented  the  greatest  rarities 
of  human  workmanship, — ivories,  bronzes,  wood- 
carvings,  enamels,  goldsmith's  work,  porcelains,  etc. 
As  soon  as  the  Jew  had  entered  this  sanctuary 
he  went  straight  to  four  masterpieces  which  he  rec- 
ognized as  the  finest  of  this  collection,  and  by 
masters  whose  works  were  lacking  in  his  own. 
These  were  for  him  what  are  for  the  naturalists 
those  desiderata  which  drive  them  to  undertake 
journeys  from  the  setting  to  the  rising  sun,  to  the 
tropics,  over  deserts,  over  prairies,  across  savannas, 
and  through  the  depths  of  virgin  forests.  The  first 
picture  was  by  Sebastien  del  Piombo,  the  second, 
by  Fra  Bartolomeo  della  Porta,  the  third  was  a 
landscape  by  Hobbema,  and  the  last,  a  portrait  of  a 
woman  by  Albert  Durer — four  jewels!  Sebastien 
del  Piombo  is,  in  the  art  of  painting,  like  a  brilliant 
point  in  which  three  schools  had  met,  bringing  each 
of  them  its  highest  qualities.  Originally  a  Vene- 
tian painter,  he  went  to  Rome  and  took  up  the  style 
of  Raphael  under  the  direction  of  Michael  Angelo, 
who  wished  to  pit  him  against  Raphael  and  contest, 
in  the  person  of  one  of  his  lieutenants,  the  supremacy 


236  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

of  that  sovereign-pontiff  of  art  Thus  this  indolent 
genius  had  melted  together  Venetian  color,  Floren- 
tine composition,  and  the  Raphaelesque  manner,  in 
the  rare  pictures  which  he  deigned  to  paint,  and  of 
which  the  cartoons  were  designed,  it  is  said,  by 
Michael  Angelo.  The  perfection  to  which  this 
painter,  thus  armed  with  triple  power,  arrived,  may 
be  seen  by  studying  in  the  museum  of  Paris,  the 
portrait  of  Baccio  Bandinelli,  which  may  be  com- 
pared with  I'Homme  au  gant  of  Titian,  with  the  por- 
trait of  an  Old  Man  in  which  Raphael  combined  his 
own  perfection  with  that  of  Correggio,  or  with  the 
Charles  VIII.  of  Lionardo  da  Vinci,  without  this 
picture  losing  by  the  comparison.  These  four  pearls 
are  of  the  same  order,  the  same  quality  of  light,  the 
same  fulness,  the  same  brilliancy,  the  same  value. 
Human  art  can  go  no  further.  It  is  superior  to 
nature,  which  can  only  make  the  original  live  its 
day.  Of  this  great  genius,  of  this  palette  immortal 
but  of  an  incurable  indolence,  Pons  possessed  a 
Chevalier  de  Malte  en  Priere,  painted  on  slate,  of  a 
freshness,  a  finish,  and  a  depth  greater  even  than 
those  qualities  in  the  portrait  by  Baccio  Bandinelli. 
The  Fra  Bartolomeo,  which  represented  The  Holy 
Family,  would  have  been  taken  for  a  picture  by 
Raphael  by  many  connoisseurs.  The  Hobbema 
should  bring  sixty  thousand  francs  at  public  auc- 
tion. As  to  the  Albert  Diirer,  this  Portrait  of  a 
Woman  was  similar  to  that  of  the  famous  Hol^- 
schuer  of  Nuremberg,  for  which  the  kings  of  Bava- 
ria, of  Holland,  and  of  Prussia  have  on  several 


COUSIN  PONS  237 

occasions,  and  vainly,  offered  two  hundred  thou- 
sand francs.  Was  she  the  wife  or  the  daughter  of  the 
Chevalier  Holzschuer,  the  friend  of  Albert  Diirer? 
The  hypothesis  may  be  considered  a  certainty,  for 
the  woman  of  Pons's  collection  is  represented  in 
an  attitude  which  supposes  a  pendant,  and  the 
heraldic  insignia  are  disposed  in  the  same  manner 
in  both  portraits.  Moreover,  the  atatis  suce  XLI. 
is  in  perfect  accordance  with  the  age  given  on  the 
portrait  so  religiously  guarded  by  the  Holzschuer 
family  in  Nuremberg,  and  of  which  the  engraving 
has  recently  been  finished. 


Elie  Magus  had  tears  in  his  eyes  as  he  looked 
alternately  at  these  four  masterpieces. 

"I  will  give  you  two  thousand  francs  commission 
for  each  of  those  pictures,  if  you  will  help  me  to  get 
them  for  forty  thousand  francs! — "  he  whispered  in 
the  ear  of  the  Cibot,  stupefied  at  this  fortune  which 
fell  from  heaven. 

The  admiration,  or  to  speak  more  truly,  the 
ecstasy  of  the  Jew  had  produced  such  disorder  in  his 
rnind  and  in  all  his  miserly  habits  that  for  once,  as 
we  see,  his  Jewish  soul  was  overthrown. 

"What  about  me? — "  said  Remonencq,  who 
knew  nothing  of  pictures. 

"Everything  here  is  of  equal  value,"  whispered 
Magus  slyly  in  the  Auvergnat's  ears.  "Take  any 
ten  of  the  pictures  at  hazard  and  on  the  same  con- 
ditions, and  your  fortune  is  made!  " 

These  three  thieves  were  still  looking  at  each 
other,  each  a  prey  to  his  voluptuous  enjoyment, — 
the  greatest  of  all, — the  satisfaction  of  success  in 
the  pursuit  of  fortune,  when  the  voice  of  the  sick 
man  rang  out  vibrating  like  the  sound  of  a  bell. 

"Who  is  there? "  cried  Pons. 

"Monsieur,  lie  down  again !"  exclaimed  the  Cibot, 
springing  towards  Pons  and  forcing  him  back  into 
his  bed.  "There  now,  do  you  wish  to  kill  your- 
self?— Well,  now,  it  is  not  Monsieur  Poulain,  it  is 
(239) 


240  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

that  good  Remonencq,  who  is  so  uneasy  about  you 
that  he  came  to  ask  how  you  are! — You  are  so 
beloved  that  all  the  house  is  astir  about  you.  What 
are  you  afraid  of?" 

"But  it  seemed  to  me  that  there  were  several  of 
you  there,"  said  the  sick  man. 

"Several!  Well,  that's  good. — Ah,  now!  are  you 
dreaming? — You  will  end  by  going  crazy,  take  my 
word  for  it! — There,  see  now!  " 

She  went  and  opened  the  door  quickly,  made  a 
sign  to  Magus  to  go  away,  and  to  Remonencq  to 
come  forward. 

"Well,  my  good  monsieur,"  said  the  Auvergnat, 
for  whose  instruction  she  had  spoken,  "I  came  to 
hear  how  you  are.  The  whole  house  is  in  a  worry  on 
your  account — Nobody  likes  that  death  should  come 
into  their  house! — And,  besides,  Papa  Monistrol, 
whom  you  know  very  well,  sent  me  to  say  that  if 
you  wanted  any  money,  he  was  at  your  service. — " 

"He  sent  you  here  to  get  a  look  at  my  bibelots ! — " 
said  the  old  collector,  with  a  bitterness  that  was  full 
of  suspicion. 

In  diseases  of  the  liver,  the  patients  nearly  always 
develop  special  and  momentary  antipathies;  they 
concentrate  their  ill-humor  on  some  object  or  on 
some  person,  it  does  not  matter  what  or  who. 
Now,  Rons  imagined  that  some  one  was  after  his 
treasure,  he  was  possessed  with  the  fixed  idea  of 
watching  over  it,  and  he  was  constantly  sending 
Schmucke  to  see  if  any  one  had  slipped  into  his 
sanctuary. 


COUSIN  PONS  241 

"It  is  plenty  fine  enough,  your  collection,  "  said 
Remonencq  astutely,  "to  tempt  all  thechineurs;  I 
don't  know  much  about  high-class  curiosities,  but 
monsieur  is  thought  to  be  so  great  a  connoisseur 
that,  though  I  am  not  well  posted  in  these  things,  I 
would  be  willing  to  buy  from  monsieur  with  my 
eyes  shut, — if  monsieur  has  sometimes  need  of 
money,  for  nothing  costs  like  these  cursed  sicknesses 
— why,  my  sister,  in  ten  days,  spent  thirty  sous 
for  medicines,  when  she  had  her  blood  upset,  and 
when  she  could  have  been  well  cured  without  that 
— The  doctors  are  cheats  who  profit  by  our  weak- 
ness to — " 

"Good-day;  thank  you,  monsieur,"  replied  Rons 
to  the  old-iron  merchant,  looking  at  him  suspiciously. 

"I  will  show  him  the  way  out,"  said  Madame 
Cibot,  in  a  low  voice,  to  her  patient,  "for  fear  he 
should  touch  anything." 

"Yes,  yes,"  replied  the  sick  man,  thanking  her 
with  a  look. 

The  Cibot  closed  the  door  of  the  bed-room,  an 
action  which  at  once  aroused  Pons's  suspicion.  She 
found  Magus  standing  motionless  in  front  of  the  four 
pictures.  This  immobility,  this  rapt  admiration, 
can  be  comprehended  only  by  those  whose  souls 
are  open  to  ideal  beauty,  to  the  ineffable  senti- 
ment which  causes  the  perfection  of  a  work  of  art, 
and  who  remain  rooted  on  their  feet  for  hours  in 
the  museum  before  the  Jocunda  of  Lionardo  da 
Vinci,  before  the  Antiope  of  Correggio,  the  master- 
piece of  this  painter,  before  la  Maltresse  du  Titien, 

16 


242  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  Holy  Family  of  Andrea  del  Sarto,  before  the 
Enfants  entoures  de  fleurs  of  Dominichino,  the  little 
cameo  of  Raphael,  his  portrait  of  the  Old  Man,  the 
greatest  of  all  the  masterpieces  of  art 

"Getaway  without  making  any  noise!"  said  she. 

GThe  Jew  went  slowly,  walking  backwards,  gazing 
t  the  pictures  as  he  went,  as  a  lover  looks  at  a 
^  .Distress  to  whom  he  bids  adieu.  When  he  was  on 
the  landing,  the  Cibot,  to  whom  this  earnest  con- 
templation had  given  some  ideas,  tapped  Magus  on 
his  skinny  arm. 

"You  must  give  me  four  thousand  francs  for  each 
picture!  if  not,  no  bargain — " 

"I  am  so  poor!"  said  Magus.  "If  I  want  those 
pictures,  it  is  for  the  pure  love  of  art,  my  good 
lady!" 

"You  are  such  a  dry  stick,  my  old  fellow,"  said 
the  concierge,  "that  I  can  imagine  that  kind  of  love. 
But  if  you  do  not  promise  me  to-day  sixteen  thou- 
sand francs  before  Remonencq,  to-morrow  it  will  be 
twenty  thousand." 

"I  promise  the  sixteen,  replied  the  Jew,  fright- 
ened at  the  cupidity  of  this  concierge. 

"By  what  can  he  swear,  a  Jew? — "  asked  the 
Cibot  of  Remonencq. 

"You  can  trust  him,"  said  the  old-iron  merchant 
He  is  as  honest  a  man  as  I  am." 

"Very  well.  And  you!"  she  demanded,  "if  I 
give  you  some  of  the  pictures  to  sell,  what  will  you 
pay  me? — " 

"Half  the  profits,"  said  Remonencq  promptly. 


COUSIN  PONS  243 

"I  would  rather  have  a  sum  down.  I  am  not  in 
the  business,"  replied  the  Cibot 

"You  understand  very  well  making  bargains!" 
said  Elie  Magus,  smiling.  "You  would  make  a 
famous  dealer." 

"I  offer  to  go  into  partnership  with  her,  body  and 
goods,"  said  the  Auvergnat,  taking  Madame 
Cibot's  plump  arm  and  tapping  it  with  the  force  of 
a  hammer.  "I  don't  ask  of  her  anything  else  to 
put  in  the  business  but  her  beauty !  You  are  very 
wrong  to  hold  on  to  your  Turk  of  a  Cibot  and  to  his 
needle!  Is  it  a  little  concierge  who  can  enrich  a 
beauty  like  you?  Ah,  what  a  figure  you  would  cut 
in  a  shop  on  the  boulevard,  in  the  middle  of  all  the 
curiosities,  chattering  with  the  customers  and  twist- 
ing them  around  your  finger!  Come,  you  leave 
that  lodge  of  yours  when  you  have  feathered  your 
nest  here,  and  you  will  see  what  we  will  do,  we 
two!" 

"Feathered  my  nest! "  exclaimed  the  Cibot  "I 
am  incapable  of  taking  from  here  so  much  as  the 
value  of  a  pin,  do  you  hear  Remonencq?"  she 
cried.  "I  am  known  in  the  quarter  as  an  honest 
woman,  I  am  !  " 

Her  eyes  flamed. 

"There,  there,  don't  get  angry !  "  said  Elie  Magus, 
"this  Auvergnat  seems  to  love  you  too  much  to 
mean  to  offend  you." 

"How  she  would  draw  the  customers!  "  cried  the 
Auvergnat 

"Now  be  fair,  my  good  fellows, "  resumed  Madame 


244  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Cibot,  pacified,  "and  consider  for  yourselves  how 
I  am  placed  here! — Here's  ten  years  that  I  have 
been  wearing  myself  out,  body  and  soul,  for  these 
two  old  bachelors  there,  without  their  ever  having 
given  me  anything  else  but  words. — Remonencq 
can  tell  you  how  I've  taken  care  of  these  two  old 
chaps  at  a  price,  so  that  I  lose  twenty  or  thirty  sous 
a  day,  all  my  savings  have  gone  that  way,  1  swear 
it  by  the  soul  of  my  mother ! — the  only  author  of 
my  being  that  I  have  ever  known ;  it's  as  true  as  I 
am  born,  and  as  the  daylight  above  us,  and  may 
my  coffee  poison  me  if  I  lie  one  centime's  worth ! — 
Well,  then,  here's  one  on  'em  going  to  die,  isn't 
that  sure  ?  and  he's  the  richest  of  these  two  men 
whom  I've  treated  like  my  own  children ! — Would 
you  believe  it,  my  dear  monsieur,  that  since  the 
last  twenty  days,  when  I  have  been  repeating  to 
him  that  he's  at  death's  door — for  M.  Poulain  has 
given  him  over ! — this  skinflint  there  has  not  said 
one  word  about  putting  me  in  his  will  any  more 
than  if  I  didn't  know  him !  My  word  of  honor,  we 
never  get  what's  due  us  unless  we  take  it,  faith  of 
an  honest  woman ;  for  as  to  trusting  yourself  to  the 
heirs! — I  guess  not!  See  now;  words  do  not  stink, 
all  the  world  is  blackguards!  " 

"That's  true,"  said  filie  Magus  artfully,  "and  it  is 
only  such  as  we,"  he  added,  looking  at  Remonencq, 
"who  are  the  really  honest  men — " 

"Don't  take  me  up,"  resumed  the  Cibot  "I 
wasn't  speaking  of  you — persons  pressing,  as  the 
old  actor  said,  are  always  accepted  ! — I  swear  to  you 


COUSIN  PONS  245 

that  those  two  gentlemen  owe  me  now  nearly  three 
thousand  francs,  that  the  little  that  1  had  is  already 
spent  for  their  medicines  and  their  affairs,  and 
supposing  they  don't  give  me  anything  for  all  that 
I've  advanced! — I  am  so  stupid  with  my  honesty 
that  I  don't  dare  to  speak  to  'em  about  it  Now, 
you  should  know  what  business  is,  my  good  mon- 
sieur, would  you  advise  me  to  go  to  a  lawyer  ? —  " 

"A  lawyer,"  cried  Remonencq,  "you  know  a 
great  deal  more  than  all  the  lawyers  put  together !  " 

The  sound  of  a  heavy  body  falling  on  the  floor 
of  the  dining-room  echoed  through  the  wide  space  of 
the  staircase. 

"Ah!  Mon  Dieu!"  cried  the  Cibot,  "what's  the 
matter?  I  do  believe  that  it  is  my  gentleman  who 
has  tumbled  on  the  floor." 

She  gave  a  push  to  the  two  accomplices  who 
rushed  downstairs  with  agility,  and  then  flew  into 
the  dining-room  where  she  saw  Pons  lying  at  full 
length,  in  his  nightshirt,  in  a  dead  faint!  She  took 
the  old  man  in  her  arms,  lifted  him  up  like  a 
feather,  and  carried  him  to  his  bed.  When  she  had 
laid  him  back  in  it,  she  put  a  burnt  feather  under 
his  nose,  wet  his  temples  with  Eau-de-Cologne,  and 
brought  him  back  to  his  senses.  Then,  when  she 
saw  the  eyes  of  Pons  open  and  that  consciousness 
had  returned,  she  placed  her  arms  akimbo. 

"Without  your  slippers!  and  in  your  shirt-tail! 
It's  enough  to  kill  you !  And  why  do  you  suspect 
me  ? — If  that's  how  it  is  to  be,  good-bye  to  you,  mon- 
sieur. After  serving  you  ten  years  and  paying  out 


246  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

my  own  money  for  your  affairs  until  my  savings 
are  all  spent,  so  as  not  to  worry  that  poor  Monsieur 
Schmucke,  who  goes  crying  down  the  stairs  like  a 
baby, — this  is  to  be  my  reward!  You  go  spying 
upon  me. — God  has  punished  you! — that's  as  it 
should  be !  And  I  who  have  had  such  a  strain  to 
carry  you  in  my  arms  that  I  risked  injuring  myself 
for  the  rest  of  my  days — Ah!  Mon  Dieu!  And 
there's  the  door  that  I've  left  open — " 

"Whom  were  you  talking  to?  " 

"What  ideas !  "  cried  the  Cibot  "Ah !  now,  am 
I  your  slave  ?  Have  I  got  to  render  an  account  to 
you?  Don't  you  know  if  you  worry  me  so  I'll  plant 
my  foot  down  right  there !  Then  you  can  hire  a 
nurse! " 

Pons,  terrified  at  this  threat,  revealed,  uncon- 
sciously, to  the  Cibot  the  lengths  to  which  she 
could  go  with  this  sword  of  Damocles. 

"It  is  because  I  am  so  sick! "  said  he  piteously. 

"Oh,  good  enough!  "  replied  the  Cibot  roughly. 

She  left  Pons  quite  bewildered,  a  prey  to  remorse, 
admiring  the  clamorous  devotion  of  his  sick-nurse, 
reproaching  himself,  and  not  even  feeling  the  great 
injury  he  had  received  in  falling  upon  the  flagging 
of  the  dining-room  and  aggravating  the  effects  of 
his  disease.  Madame  Cibot  saw  Schmucke  coming 
up  the  stairway. 

"Come  monsieur! — I  have  bad  news  for  you! 
Monsieur  Pons  has  gone  crazy! — Fancy!  he  got  up 
without  any  clothes  on  him  and  followed  me, —  and 
he  fell  down  right  there  at  full  length — Ask  him 


COUSIN  PONS  247 

why,  and  he  don't  know  nothing  about  it — He  is 
very  bad.  I  did  nothing  to  provoke  him  to  such 
violence,  except  to  give  him  some  ideas  in  talking 
to  him  about  his  early  loves. — Who  knows  anything 
about  the  men?  They  are  all  old  libertines — I  was 
wrong  to  show  him  my  arms,  they  made  his  eyes 
shine  like  carbuncles — " 

Schmucke  listened  to  Madame  Cibot  as  if  she 
were  talking  Hebrew. 

"I  have  given  myself  such  a  wrench  that  I  have 
got  a  hurt  that  will  last  me  till  the  end  of  my  days," 
added  the  Cibot,  making  believe  to  suffer  from 
severe  pains,  and  resolving  to  make  the  most  of  an 
idea  that  had  come  to  her  by  chance,  from  a  slight 
fatigue  she  felt  in  her  muscles.  "I  am  so  stupid! 
When  I  saw  him  there  stretched  out  on  the  ground, 
I  took  him  up  in  my  arms  and  I  carried  him  to  his 
bed  just  like  a  child,  I  did!  But  now  I  feel  such  a 
strain!  Ah!  I  am  sick! — I  am  going  down  into  my 
own  place,  you  take  care  of  our  sick  man.  I  am 
going  to  send  Cibot  for  Dr.  Poulain  for  me!  I'd 
rather  die  than  see  myself  a  cripple — " 

She  grasped  the  balustrade  and  rolled  herself 
down  the  staircase,  making  a  thousand  contortions 
and  uttering  such  plaintive  moans  that  all  the 
lodgers,  much  alarmed,  came  out  from  their  apart- 
ments on  the  different  landings.  Schmucke  supported 
the  sufferer,  shedding  tears  and  explaining  her  great 
devotion.  All  the  house,  all  the  quarter,  were  soon 
acquainted  with  the  sublime  devotion  of  Madame 
Cibot  who  had  given  herself  a  mortal  injury,  they 


248  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

said,  by  lifting  one  of  the  Nut-crackers  in  her  arms. 
Schmucke,  when  he  got  back  to  Pons,  revealed  to 
him  the  sad  condition  of  their  factotum  and  each  of 
them  looked  at  the  other  as  if  saying,  "What  will 
become  of  us  without  her? — "  Schmucke,  observ- 
ing the  change  in  Pons's  appearance,  produced  by 
his  escapade,  did  not  dare  to  scold  him. 

"Heng  dat  prig-a-prag.  I  vould  radder  haf  eet 
purn  dan  loose  mein  frent,"  cried  he,  after  Pons 
had  told  him  of  the  cause  of  the  accident  "To 
tout  Montame  Zipod,  who  has  her  safings  lent  to 
us!  Dat  ees  not  rigd;  put  eet  ees  your  seegness,  I 
know — " 

"Ah!  what  an  illness!  I  am  changed,  I  feel  it," 
said  Pons.  "I  don't  wish  to  make  you  unhappy, 
my  good  Schmucke." 

"Scolt  me,"  said  Schmucke,  "put  leaf  Montame 
Zipod  alone." 


Doctor  Poulain  cured,  in  a  few  days,  Madame 
Cibot  of  the  injury  she  pretended  to  have  suffered, 
and  his  reputation  received  in  the  quarter  of  the 
Marais  an  extraordinary  lustre  from  this  cure  which 
seemed  miraculous.  In  Pons's  room,  he  attributed 
his  success  to  the  excellent  constitution  of  the 
patient,  who  resumed  her  attendance  upon  her  two 
gentlemen  on  the  seventh  day,  to  their  great  satis- 
faction. This  event  augmented  a  hundredfold  the 
influence,  the  tyranny  of  the  concierge,  over  the 
household  of  the  two  Nut-crackers,  who,  during  this 
week,  had  been  forced  to  run  into  debt,  but  whose 
debts  had  been  paid  by  her.  The  Cibot  profited  by 
the  circumstance  to  obtain, — and  with  what  ease ! — 
from  Schmucke  a  receipt  for  the  two  thousand  francs 
which  she  declared  she  had  lent  to  the  two  friends. 

"Ah!  what  a  doctor  that  Monsieur  Poulain  is," 
she  said  to  Pons.  "He  will  save  you,  my  dear  mon- 
sieur, for  he  dragged  me  out  of  my  coffin !  My  poor 
Cibot  thought  I  was  dead! — Well,  now,  Monsieur 
Poulain  must  have  told  you  while  I  was  lying  on 
my  bed,  I  only  thought  of  you.  'My  God/  I  used 
to  say,  'take  me  and  let  my  dear  Monsieur  Pons 
live—'  " 

"Poor  dear  Madame  Cibot,  you  came  near  hav- 
ing a  fatal  hurt  through  me !  " 

"Ah!  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Monsieur  Poulain,  I 
(249) 


250  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

should  have  been  by  this  time  in  that  chemise  of 
pine-wood  to  which  we  are  all  coming.  Well,  as 
that  old  actor  used  to  say,  'when  you  are  at  the 
bottom  of  the  grave,  you  can  turn  a  somerset !'  We 
must  all  have  some  philosophy.  How  did  you  get 
along  without  me? — " 

"Schmucke  nursed  me,"  replied  the  sick  man, 
"but  our  poor  purse  and  our  pupils  have  suffered 
for  it — I  don't  know  how  he  managed." 

"Pe  calm,  Bons,"  cried  Schmucke,  "ve  haf  here 
in  de  goot  Zipod  our  panker — " 

"Don't  speak  of  that,  my  poor  lamb!  You  are 
both  of  you  my  children,"  cried  the  Cibot  "Our 
savings  are  all  safe  with  you,  come!  you  are  as 
solid  as  the  Bank  of  France.  So  long  as  we  have  a 
piece  of  bread  you  shall  have  half  of  it; — 'taint 
worth  talking  about — " 

"Boor  Montame  Zipod,"  said  Schmucke,  as  he 
went  away. 

Rons  said  nothing. 

"Would  you  believe  it,  my  cherub,"  said  the 
Cibot  to  the  sick  man,  noticing  that  he  was  uneasy, 
"when  death  was  hanging  over  me, — for  I  saw  the 
flat-nosed  one  very  near  me ! — the  thing  that  worried 
me  most  was  the  thought  of  you  poor  dears  left  alone 
to  take  care  of  yourselves  and  of  leaving  my  poor 
Cibot  without  a  Hard — my  savings  are  such  a  trifle 
that  I  wouldn't  speak  to  you  about  them  if  it  wasn't 
in  connection  with  my  death  and  with  Cibot,  who 
is  an  angel !  No,  that  good  soul  there,  took  care  of 
me  like  a  queen,  and  cried  over  me  like  a  calf! — 


COUSIN  PONS  251 

But  I  felt  sure  of  you,  word  of  an  honest  woman,  I 
did.  I  said  to  him,  'never  mind  Cibot,  my  gentle- 
men will  never  leave  you  to  starve* — " 

Rons  made  no  reply  to  this  attack  ad  testamentum, 
and  the  concierge  kept  silent,  waiting  for  a  word. 

"I  will  recommend  you  to  Schmucke,"  said  the 
sick  man,  finally. 

"Ah, "cried  she,  "anything  you  do  will  be  right! 
I  can  trust  to  you,  to  your  good  heart — Don't  speak 
of  that  ever,  for  you  will  make  me  ashamed,  my 
good  cherub;  think  only  of  getting  well!  You  will 
live  longer  than  the  rest  of  us. — " 

A  profound  anxiety  took  possession  of  the  heart 
of  Madame  Cibot,  she  resolved  to  get  some  explana- 
tion from  her  gentleman  on  the  subject  of  the  legacy 
which  he  intended  to  leave  her;  and,  as  a  prelimi- 
nary step,  she  went  out  to  call  on  Doctor  Poulain  in 
his  own  home  that  evening,  after  Schmucke's  din- 
ner, the  latter  taking  his  meals  by  the  bedside  of 
Pons  since  his  friend  had  been  sick. 

Doctor  Poulain  lived  in  the  Rue  d'Orleans.  He 
occupied  a  small  ground-floor  apartment  consisting 
of  an  ante-chamber,  a  salon,  and  two  bed-rooms. 
An  office  which  adjoined  the  ante-chamber  and 
which  communicated  with  one  of  the  two  bed-rooms, 
that  of  the  doctor,  had  been  converted  into  a  study. 
The  kitchen  and  servant's  bed-room,  and  a  small 
cellar  belonging  to  this  suite  of  rooms  were  situated 
in  the  wing  of  the  house,  a  vast  structure  erected 
under  the  Empire,  on  the  site  of  an  old  mansion, 
the  garden  of  which  still  remained.  This  garden 


252  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

was  divided  among  the  three  apartments  on  the 
ground-floor. 

The  suite  of  rooms  belonging  to  the  doctor  had 
not  been  changed  for  forty  years.  The  painting, 
the  papering,  the  decorations,  were  all  of  the  Em- 
pire. Forty  years  of  dirt,  of  smoke,  had  defaced 
the  mirrors,  the  friezes,  the  patterns  of  the  wall 
paper,  the  ceilings,  and  the  paint  This  little 
abode  in  the  depths  of  the  Marais  cost  still  one 
thousand  francs  a  year.  Madame  Poulain,  the 
doctor's  mother,  sixty-seven  years  of  age,  was 
spending  her  last  years  in  the  second  bed-room. 
She  worked  for  the  breeches-makers.  She  sewed 
gaiters,  leathern  breeches,  braces,  waistbands, — in 
fact  on  all  the  various  parts  of  that  garment  now 
falling  into  disuse.  Occupied  with  the  care  of  her 
son's  household  and  of  her  only  servant,  she  never 
went  out,  and  took  the  air  in  the  little  garden  which 
was  entered  by  a  glass  door  leading  from  the  salon. 
A  widow  for  the  last  twenty  years,  she  had,  at  the 
death  of  her  husband,  sold  the  business  of  breeches- 
making  to  her  foreman,  who  agreed  to  give  her 
enough  work  to  enable  her  to  earn  about  thirty  sous 
a  day.  She  had  sacrificed  everything  to  the  educa- 
tion of  her  only  son,  resolved,  at  any  price,  to  give 
him  a  situation  superior  to  that  of  his  father. 
Proud  of  her  >Esculapius,  believing  in  his  success, 
she  still  continued  to  sacrifice  everything  to  him, 
happy  in  taking  care  of  him,  in  economizing  for 
him,  thinking  only  of  his  comfort,  and  loving  him 
with  intelligence,  which  is  more  than  all  mothers 


COUSIN  PONS  253 

know  how  to  do.  Thus,  Madame  Poulain,  who 
remembered  very  well  that  she  had  been  a  mere 
work-woman  did  not  wish  to  injure  her  son  or 
expose  him  to  ridicule,  for  the  good  woman  used  her 
s's  very  much  as  Madame  Cibot  used  her  negatives; 
she  hid  herself  in  her  bed-room,  of  her  own  choice, 
whenever  by  chance  some  distinguished  patients 
came  to  consult  the  doctor  or  when  his  fellow  col- 
legians or  colleagues  of  the  hospital  presented  them- 
selves. Thus  the  doctor  had  never  been  obliged  to 
blush  for  his  mother,  whom  he  venerated,  and  in 
whom  the  defects  of  education  were  well  compen- 
sated by  this  sublime  tenderness.  The  sale  of  the 
breeches-maker's  business  had  produced  about 
twenty  thousand  francs.  The  widow  had  placed 
them  in  the  Grand-lime  in  1820,  and  the  eleven 
hundred  francs  of  dividend  which  they  brought  her 
represented  the  whole  of  her  means.  So  for  many 
years  the  neighbors  had  been  in  the  habit  of  seeing 
in  the  garden  the  doctor's  linen  and  that  of  his 
mother,  displayed  on  the  clothes-lines.  Madame 
Poulain  and  her  servant  washed  everything  at  home 
as  a  matter  of  economy.  This  domestic  detail  had 
injured  the  doctor  a  good  deal,  people  were  unable 
to  recognize  his  talent  when  they  saw  him  so  poor. 
The  eleven  hundred  francs  paid  the  rent  The 
work  of  Madame  Poulain,  a  good,  fat,  little,  old 
woman,  had  during  the  early  days,  sufficed  for  all 
the  expenses  of  the  humble  household.  After 
twelve  years  of  persistence  in  this  stony  path,  the 
doctor  had  come  to  earn  about  three  thousand  francs 


254  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

a  year,  so  that  Madame  Poulain  could  now  dispose 
of  about  five  thousand  francs  annually.  This  was, 
for  those  who  know  Paris,  just  enough  for  the  strict 
necessities  of  life. 

The  salon  where  the  patients  waited  was  meanly 
furnished  with  that  well-known  vulgar  mahogany 
sofa,  covered  with  yellow  Utrecht  velvet,  with  its 
pattern  of  flowers,  four  arm-chairs,  and  six  com- 
mon chairs,  a  pier-table,  and  a  tea-table, — all  of 
them  inherited  from  the  old  breeches-maker  and  all 
of  his  particular  choice.  The  clock,  always  kept 
under  a  glass  case,  between  two  Egyptian  cande- 
labra, was  in  the  shape  of  a  lyre.  It  was  a  ques- 
tion by  what  means  the  curtains  which  hung  at  the 
windows  could  possibly  have  been  preserved  so  long, 
for  they  were  of  yellow  calico  with  the  pattern  of 
red  roses  from  the  manufactory  of  Jouy.  Ober- 
kampf  had  received  the  compliments  of  the  Emperor 
for  these  atrocious  products  of  the  cotton  industry 
in  the  year  1809.  The  doctor's  study  being  fur- 
nished in  this  style,  the  furniture  of  the  paternal 
bed-chamber  had  supplied  the  means.  The  aspect 
of  the  room  was  dismal,  cold,  and  poverty-stricken. 
What  patient  could  possibly  believe  in  the  skill  of  a 
doctor  who,  without  renown,  found  himself  without 
any  furniture  in  a  time  when  the  art  of  advertising 
is  all-powerful,  and  when  the  candelabra  of  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde  are  gilded  to  console  the  poor 
man  by  persuading  him  that  he  is  a  rich  citizen  ? 

The  ante-chamber  served  as  a  dining-room.  The 
servant  worked  there  when  she  was  not  employed 


COUSIN  PONS  255 

in  the  kitchen  or  when  she  was  not  in  the  company 
of  the  doctor's  mother.  The  first  glance  on  enter- 
ing revealed  the  decent  poverty  which  reigned  in 
this  melancholy  apartment,  left  empty  during  half 
the  day,  as  the  eye  rested  on  the  little  curtains  of 
red  muslin  covering  a  solitary  window  looking  out 
upon  the  court  The  cupboard  evidently  held 
scraps  of  mouldy  pates,  chipped  plates,  endless 
corks,  napkins  of  a  week's  use — in  short  all  the 
necessary  ignominies  of  the  humbler  Parisian 
household  which,  from  there,  could  go  nowhere  but 
into  the  bag  of  the  rag-picker.  Thus,  in  these  days, 
when  the  five-franc  piece  is  stamped  on  all  minds, 
and  rolls  under  all  tongues,  the  doctor,  though  thirty 
years  of  age  and  possessed  of  a  mother  without  rela- 
tives, remained  a  bachelor.  In  the  course  of  ten 
years  he  had  never  encountered  the  very  smallest 
pretext  for  a  romance  in  the  families  to  which  his 
profession  gave  him  access,  for  he  cured  only  those 
in  a  sphere  in  which  the  conditions  resembled  his 
own;  he  only  saw  households  similar  to  his  own, — 
those  of  the  minor  employees  or  of  small  manufac- 
turers. His  richest  clients  were  the  butchers, 
bakers,  and  the  larger  retail  shopkeepers  of  the 
quarter,  people  who  usually  attributed  their  cure  to 
nature,  in  order  to  be  able  to  pay  the  doctor  only 
forty  sous  a  visit,  seeing  that  he  came  on  foot  In 
the  medical  profession,  a  cabriolet  is  of  more  con- 
sequence than  knowledge. 

A  life  of  commonplace  events,    without   oppor- 
tunities,   ends   by   reacting  upon    even  the  most 


256  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

(adventurous  mind.  The  man  conforms  to  his  fate, 
,  he  accepts  the  commonness  of  his  life.  So  Doctor 
-'  Poulain,  after  ten  years'  practice,  continued  his  toil 
of  Sisyphus  without  the  sense  of  despair  which 
made  his  first  years  so  bitter.  Nevertheless,  he 
cherished  a  dream,  for  all  the  inhabitants  of  Paris 
have  their  visions.  Remonencq  had  one,  Madame 
Cibot  had  hers.  Doctor  Poulain  hoped  to  be  called 
in  by  some  rich  and  influential  invalid;  then  to 
obtain  through  the  influence  of  this  invalid,  whom 
he  should  infallibly  cure,  an  appointment  as  doctor- 
in-chief  to  some  hospital,  or  as  doctor  in  the  prison, 
or  to  the  theatres  of  the  boulevard,  or  in  some  gov- 
ernment office.  He  had  already  obtained  by  such 
means  his  place  as  physician  to  the  Maine.  Called 
in  by  Madame  Cibot,  he  had  attended  and  cured  M. 
Pillerault,  the  proprietor  of  the  house  in  which  the 
Cibots  were  concierges.  M.  Pillerault,  maternal 
great-uncle  to  Madame  la  Comtesse  Popinot,  the 
minister's  wife,  having  taken  an  interest  in  this 
young  man,  whose  secret  poverty  had  been  fath- 
omed by  him  in  a  visit  of  acknowledgment,  obtained 
from  his  great-nephew,  the  minister,  who  venerated 
him,  this  official  situation  which  the  doctor  had 
occupied  for  five  years  and  of  which  the  meagre 
emoluments  had  come  just  in  time  to  keep  him  from 
carrying  out  a  desperate  determination  to  emi- 
grate. To  leave  France  is  for  a  Frenchman  a  most 
melancholy  proceeding.  Doctor  Poulain  hastened  to 
thank  the  Comte  Popinot;  but  the  physician  to  this 
statesman  proving  to  be  the  illustrious  Bianchon,  the 


COUSIN  PONS  257 

aspirant  comprehended  that  he  could  never  hope  to 
obtain  a  footing  in  that  house.  The  poor  doctor, 
after  having  flattered  himself  that  he  had  obtained 
the  protection  of  an  influential  statesman,  of  one  of 
the  twelve  or  fifteen  cards  which  a  powerful  hand 
has  been  shuffling  for  the  last  sixteen  years  on  the 
green  baize  of  the  council-board,  found  himself 
plunged  back  into  the  Marais,  where  he  splashed 
about  among  the  small  bourgeois,  and  where  he  had 
charge  of  recording  their  deaths,  at  a  salary  of 
twelve  hundred  francs  a  year. 

Doctor  Poulain,  who  had  been  a  sufficiently  dis- 
tinguished student  and  who  had  now  become  a 
prudent  practitioner,  did  not  lack  experience.  More- 
over, his  deaths  caused  no  scandal  and  he  was  able 
to  study  all  diseases  in  anima  vili.  Judge  with 
what  bitterness  he  was  nourished!  So  that  the 
expression  of  his  face,  already  long  and  melancholy, 
was  sometimes  frightful.  Set,  in  a  yellow  parch- 
ment, eyes  with  the  gleam  of  Tartuffe  and  the 
sharpness  of  Alceste ;  then  picture  to  yourself  the 
deportment,  the  attitude,  the  look  of  this  man  who, 
knowing  himself  to  be  just  as  skilful  a  doctor  as 
the  illustrious  Bianchon,  felt  himself  held  down  in 
an  obscure  sphere  by  a  hand  of  iron !  Doctor  Pou- 
lain could  not  help  comparing  his  receipts  of  ten 
francs,  in  his  fortunate  days,  with  those  of  Bian- 
chon, which  amounted  to  five  or  six  hundred !  Does 
not  this  enable  us  to  conceive  of  the  hatreds  of 
democracy  ?  This  man  of  ambition,  moreover,  thus 
thrown  back  on  himself,  had  no  cause  for  self- 
17 


258  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

reproach.  He  had  already  wooed  fortune  by  invent- 
ing certain  purgative  pills,  like  those  of  Morrison. 
He  had  entrusted  this  enterprise  to  a  comrade  at  the 
hospital,  a  student  who  had  become  a  druggist;  but 
the  druggist,  amorous  of  a  dancer  at  the  Ambigu- 
Comique,  ended  in  bankruptcy,  and  the  patent  for 
the  purgative  pills  having  been  taken  out  in  his 
name,  this  immense  discovery  enriched  his  suc- 
cessor. The  bankrupt  departed  for  Mexico,  the 
land  of  gold,  carrying  with  him  one  thousand  francs 
of  poor  Poulain's  savings,  who,  by  way  of  consola- 
tion, was  treated  as  a  usurer  by  the  dancer,  from 
whom  he  attempted  to  recover  his  money.  Since 
his  good  fortune  in  the  care  of  old  Pillerault,  not  one 
rich  client  had  presented  himself.  Poulain  scoured 
all  the  Marais  on  foot  like  a  lean  cat,  and  for  his 
twenty  visits  obtained  from  two  to  forty  sous.  The 
client  who  paid  well  was  for  him  that  phantasmal 
bird  known  in  all  sublunary  realms  as  the  "white 
crow." 

The  young  lawyer  without  cases,  the  young  doc- 
tor without  patients,  are  the  two  greatest  expres- 
sions of  decent  despair,  peculiar  to  the  city  of  Paris, 
that  despair  chill,  silent,  clothed  in  a  black  coat  and 
trousers,  whose  whitening  seams  recall  the  tin  roofs 
of  the  garrets  in  a  waistcoat  of  too  shiny  satin,  a 
hat  sacredly  cared  for,  old  gloves,  and  a  cotton 
shirt.  It  is  a  poem  of  sadness,  sombre  as  are  the 
secrets  of  the  Conciergerie.  Other  forms  of  pov- 
erty, those  of  the  poet,  of  the  artist,  of  the  actor,  of 
the  musician,  are  cheered  by  the  gaiety  natural  to 


COUSIN  PONS  259 

the  arts,  by  the  careless  ease  of  Bohemia  into 
which  one  enters  at  first,  and  which  leads  to  the 
Thebaides  of  genius.  But  these  two  black  coats 
which  go  afoot,  worn  by  the  two  professions  for 
whom  all  things  are  like  an  open  wound,  to  whom 
humanity  shows  only  its  shameful  aspects;  these 
two  men  have  in  the  dreary  flattening  out  of  their 
opening  career,  sinister  and  aggressive  expressions, 
in  which  hatred  and  ambition  concentrated,  flame 
forth  in  glances  like  those  of  the  first  gleams  of  a 
smoldering  fire.  When  two  college  friends  meet, 
after  a  separation  of  twenty  years,  the  rich  man 
avoids  his  poor  comrade,  he  does  not  recognize  him, 
he  is  terrified  at  the  gulf  which  fate  has  opened 
between  them.  The  one  has  traversed  life  on  the 
mettlesome  steeds  of  fortune  or  on  the  golden  clouds 
of  success ;  the  other  has  plodded  along  the  subter- 
ranean ways  of  Parisian  sewers  and  carries  their 
stigmata  upon  him.  How  many  old  comrades 
avoided  the  doctor  at  the  mere  sight  of  his  coat  and 
his  waistcoat! 


It  is  now  easy  to  see  why  Doctor  Poulain  had 
been  so  willing  to  play  his  part  in  the  comedy  of 
Madame  Cibot's  illness.  All  his  covetousness,  all 
his  ambitions,  may  be  imagined.  Not  finding  the 
slightest  sign  of  injury  in  any  of  the  concierge's 
organs,  admiring  the  regularity  of  her  pulse,  the 
perfect  ease  of  all  her  movements,  and  hearing  her 
utter  distressing  cries,  he  understood  that  she  had 
some  good  reason  for  pretending  to  be  at  death's  door. 
The  rapid  cure  of  this  serious  pretended  malady  being 
likely  to  make  him  talked  about  in  the  arrondisse- 
ment,  he  exaggerated  the  pretended  rupture  of  the 
concierge,  and  he  talked  of  taking  it  in  time  and  reduc- 
ing it  Finally,  he  subjected  the  concierge  to  pre- 
tended remedies,  to  a  fictitious  operation,  which  were 
crowned  with  complete  success.  He  hunted  up  in 
the  arsenal  of  the  extraordinary  cures  of  Desplein 
a  peculiar  case;  he  applied  it  to  Madame  Cibot, 
modestly  attributing  the  cure  to  the  great  surgeon, 
and  gave  himself  out  for  his  imitator.  Such  are  the 
tricks  of  men  who  are  endeavoring  to  rise  in  Paris. 
Everything  serves  them  for  a  ladder  with  which  to 
mount  on  a  scene;  but  as  everything  wears  out, 
even  the  rungs  of  a  ladder,  the  beginners  in  each 
profession  no  longer  know  of  what  wood  to  make 
these  steps  for  themselves.  Sometimes  the  Parisian 
turns  rebellious.  Weary  of  building  pedestals,  he 
(261) 


262  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

sulks,  like  a  spoiled  child,  and  will  have  no  more 
idols;  or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  men  of  talent 
are  sometimes  lacking  for  this  infatuation.  The 
vein  from  which  is  extracted  the  ore  of  genius  has 
its  interruptions;  the  Parisian  turns  recalcitrant 
and  will  not  forever  gild  or  adore  the  mediocrities. 

Madame  Cibot  entered  with  her  accustomed 
brusqueness,  and  surprised  the  doctor  at  table  with 
his  old  mother,  eating  a  salad  of  lamb's  lettuce,  the 
cheapest  of  all  salads,  having  for  dessert  only  a 
thin  wedge  of  Brie  cheese  between  a  plate  sparsely 
filled  with  the  dried  fruit  called  "the  four  mendi- 
cants,"— figs,  nuts,  almonds,  and  raisins,  in  which 
might  be  seen  many  stalks  of  raisins,  and  a  plate  of 
miserable,  shrunken  apples. 

"You  can  stay,  mother,"  said  the  doctor,  retain- 
ing Madame  Poulain  by  the  arm.  "This  is  Madame 
Cibot,  of  whom  I  have  spoken  so  often." 

"My  respects,  madame,  my  duties  to  you,  mon- 
sieur," said  the  Cibot,  accepting  the  chair  which 
the  doctor  presented  to  her.  "Oh,  and  that  is  your 
mother  ?  She  is  very  happy  to  have  a  son  who  has 
so  much  talent;  for  he  is  my  savior,  madame,  he 
pulled  me  out  of  the  grave." 

The  widow  Poulain  found  Madame  Cibot  charm- 
ing, when  she  heard  her  thus  sounding  the  praises 
of  her  son. 

"It  is  to  say  to  you,  my  dear  Monsieur  Poulain, 
between  ourselves,  that  poor  Monsieur  Pons  is  very 
sick  and  that  1  have  something  to  say  to  you  relating 
to  him—" 


COUSIN  PONS  263 

"Let  us  go  into  the  salon,"  said  Doctor  Poulain, 
indicating  the  servant  to  Madame  Cibot  by  a  sig- 
nificant gesture. 

In  the  salon,  the  Cibot  explained  at  length  her 
position  with  the  two  Nut-crackers,  she  repeated 
the  story  of  her  loan  to  them,  embellishing  it  suffi- 
ciently, and  recounted  the  immense  services  which 
she  had  rendered  during  the  last  ten  years  to  MM. 
Rons  and  Schmucke.  To  hear  her,  you  would  have 
thought  that  these  two  old  men  would  be  no  longer 
in  existence  had  it  not  been  for  her  maternal  cares. 
In  short,  she  posed  as  an  angel,  and  uttered  so  many 
and  so  various  lies,  duly  sprinkled  with  tears,  that 
she  ended  by  melting  the  old  Madame  Poulain. 

"You  understand,  my  dear  monsieur,"  she  said 
finishing,  "that  it  would  be  well  to  know  just  what 
to  expect  of  that  which  Monsieur  Pons  is  going  to  do 
for  me  in  case  he  should  die,  which  is  what  I  hope 
very  much  will  not  happen,  for  the  taking  care  of 
these  two  innocents,  do  you  see,  madame,  that  is 
my  life;  but  if  one  of  them  should  leave  me  I  would 
look  out  for  the  other.  As  for  me,  nature  con- 
structed me  to  be  the  rival  of  maternity.  Without 
someone  in  whom  I  can  interest  myself,  of  whom  I 
can  make  a  baby,  I  do  not  know  what  would  become 
of  me. — So,  if  Monsieur  Poulain  will  do  it,  he  can 
render  me  a  service,  which  I  shall  not  know  how  to  be 
thankful  enough  for,  that  would  be  to  speak  to  Mon- 
sieur Pons  about  me.  Mon  Dieu !  A  thousand  francs 
of  annuity,  is  that  too  much,  I  ask  you,  yourself  ?  It 
is  just  so  much  gained  for  Monsieur  Schmucke. — For 


264  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

that  matter,  our  dear  sick  man  has  said  to  me  that  he 
would  commend  me  to  that  poor  German,  who  will 
then  be,  according  to  his  ideas,  his  heir. — But  what 
kind  of  a  man  is  it  who  does  not  know  how  to  sew  two 
ideas  together  in  French,  and  he  moreover  is  quite 
capable  of  taking  himself  over  to  Germany,  so  much 
he  will  be  in  despair  over  the  death  of  his  friend. — " 

"My  dear  Mame  Cibot, "  replied  the  doctor,  becom- 
ing serious.  "  These  kinds  of  affairs  do  not  concern 
the  physician,  and  the  exercise  of  my  profession 
would  be  forbidden  to  me  if  it  were  known  that  I 
had  interfered  in  the  testamentary  dispositions  of 
one  of  my  patients.  The  law  does  not  permit  a  doc- 
tor to  accept  a  legacy  from  one  of  his  patients — " 

"What  a  beast  of  a  law!  But  what  is  it  that 
would  hinder  me  from  sharing  my  legacy  with 
you?"  responded  promptly  the  Cibot 

"I  will  go  further  still,"  said  the  doctor.  "My 
conscience  as  a  physician  forbids  me  to  speak  to 
M.  Pons  of  his  death.  In  the  first  place,  he  is  not  in  a 
sufficiently  dangerous  condition  for  that;  then,  this 
statement  on  my  part  might  cause  him  a  shock, 
which  might  do  him  real  injury  and  so  render  his 
malady  mortal." 

"But  I  don't  mince  matters  very  much,"  cried 
Madame  Cibot,  "in  telling  him  to  put  his  affairs  in 
order,  and  that  he  cannot  be  much  worse  than  he 
is — He  is  used  to  that!  You  need  not  fear." 

"Say  to  me  no  more  about  it,  my  dear  Madame 
Cibot!  These  things  are  not  at  all  in  the  domain 
of  the  doctor.  They  concern  only  the  notaries." 


COUSIN  PONS  265 

"But,  my  dear  Monsieur  Poulain,  if  M.  Pons 
should  ask  of  you  of  his  own  accord  how  he  is,  and 
if  he  would  do  well  to  take  his  precautions,  then 
would  you  refuse  to  say  to  him  that  it  is  an  excel- 
lent help  toward  recovering  the  health  to  have 
everything  arranged. — Then  you  could  slip  in  a 
little  word  for  me." 

"Ah!  should  he  speak  to  me  about  making  his 
will,  I  would  not  dissuade  him  in  any  way,"  said 
Doctor  Poulain. 

"All  right,  that  is  agreed,"  cried  Madame  Cibot 

"I  have  come  to  thank  you  for  your  pains,"  she 
added,  and  slipping  into  the  doctor's  hand  a  little 
paper  which  contained  three  pieces  of  gold;  "that 
is  all  that  I  can  do  at  present  Ah !  if  I  were  only 
rich  you  would  be  so  too,  my  dear  M.  Poulain,  you 
are  the  image  of  the  good  God  on  earth.  You  have 
there,  madame,  for  a  son  an  angel !  " 

The  Cibot  rose,  Madame  Poulain  saluted  her  with 
amiability  and  the  doctor  reconducted  her  out  to 
the  landing.  There,  this  frightful  Lady  Macbeth  of 
the  streets  was  suddenly  illuminated  by  an  infernal 
light;  she  comprehended  that  the  doctor  could  be 
made  her  accomplice,  since  he  had  accepted  an 
honorarium  for  the  pretended  malady. 

"But  how,  my  dear  M.  Poulain,"  said  she  to 
him,  "after  having  pulled  me  out  of  that  affair  of 
my  accident,  can  you  refuse  to  save  me  from  pov- 
erty by  speaking  only  a  few  words? " 

The  doctor  felt  that  he  had  allowed  the  devil 
to  take  him  by  a  lock  of  his  head,  and  that  this 


266  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

lock  was  tightly  rolled  around  the  pitiless  claw 
of  the  fiery  hand.  Frightened  at  the  idea  of 
losing  his  honesty  for  so  small  a  thing,  he  re- 
plied to  this  diabolical  idea  by  another  not  less 
diabolical. 

"Listen,  my  dear  Madame  Cibot,"  said  he,  turn- 
ing her  back,  and  leading  her  into  his  study.  "I 
am  going  to  pay  you  the  debt  of  gratitude  which  I 
contracted  toward  you,  to  whom  1  owe  my  position 
in  the  Mairie. — " 

"We  will  share  it  equally,"  said  she,  quickly 

"What!  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"The  inheritance,"  replied  the  concierge. 

"You  do  not  know  me,"  returned  the  doctor, 
assuming  the  pose  of  Valerius  Publicola.  "Do  not 
speak  any  more  of  that  I  have  for  a  college  com- 
rade, a  young  man,  very  intelligent,  and  we  are  all 
the  more  closely  united  that  we  have  had  the  same 
fortunes  in  life.  While  I  was  studying  medicine, 
he  was  following  law;  while  I  was  still  in  the  col- 
lege, he  was  spreading  outside  in  the  office  of  an 
attorney  Maitre  Couture.  The  son  of  a  shoemaker, 
as  1  am  the  son  of  a  breeches-maker,  he  has  not 
found  very  lively  sympathies  around  him,  but  he 
has  none  the  more  found  capital ;  for,  after  all, 
capital  is  not  obtained  by  sympathy.  He  has  not 
been  able  to  carry  on  his  profession  excepting 
in  the  provinces,  at  Mantes. — Now,  the  people 
in  the  provinces  comprehend  so  poorly  the  Paris 
intelligence,  that  they  have  put  a  thousand  injuries 
upon  my  friend." 


COUSIN  PONS  267 

"The  beasts!  "  cried  the  Cibot. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  doctor,  "for  they  have  banded 
together  against  him  so  effectively  that  he  has 
been  forced  to  sell  out  his  practice  under  circum- 
stances which  have  made  it  appear  that  he  had 
committed  a  wrong;  the  Procureur-du-Roi  interfered 
in  the  case ;  this  magistrate  was  a  native  of  the 
country,  and  he  took  sides  with  his  fellow  provin- 
cials. This  poor  fellow,  still  more  seedy  and  more 
threadbare  than  I  am,  and  lives  just  as  I  do, 
his  name  is  Fraisier,  has  taken  refuge  in  our 
arrondissement,  and  is  reduced  to  pleading  before 
the  justice  of  the  peace  and  the  ordinary  tribunals 
of  police.  He  lives  near  here,  Rue  de  la  Perle.  Go 
to  Number  9,  you  will  mount  three  flights  and  on 
the  landing  you  will  see  painted  in  gold  letters: 
CABINET  DE  M.  FRAISIER  on  a  little  square  of  red 
morocco.  Fraisier  takes  special  charge  of  the  diffi- 
cult affairs  of  MM.  the  concierges,  of  the  work- 
people, and  of  all  the  poor  in  our  arrondissement,  at 
moderate  prices.  He  is  an  honest  man,  for  I  do  not 
need  to  say  to  you,  that,  with  his  opportunities,  if 
he  were  a  knave  he  would  roll  in  his  carriage.  I  will 
see  my  friend  Fraisier  this  evening.  Go  to  see  him 
to-morrow  early ;  he  knows  M.  Louchard,  Garde  de 
Commerce;  M.  Tabareau,  bailiff  of  the  justice  of 
the  peace;  M.  Vitel,  the  juge-de-paix ,  and  M.  Trog- 
non,  notary;  he  is  already  connected  with  the  most 
important  men  of  affairs  of  the  quarter.  If  he  takes 
charge  of  your  interests,  if  you  can  get  M.  Rons  to 
take  him  for  counsel,  you  will  have  in  him,  do  you 


268  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

see,  another  yourself.  Only,  do  not  go  to  him  as 
to  me,  to  propose  some  compromise  which  would 
affect  his  honor ;  but  he  has  intelligence,  you  will 
come  to  an  understanding.  Then,  when  it  comes 
to  recompensing  his  services,  I  will  be  your  inter- 
mediary." 

Madame  Cibot  looked  at  the  doctor  malignantly. 

"Is  he  not  the  man  of  law,"  said  she,  "who 
pulled  the  haberdasher  of  the  Rue  Vieille-du-Temple, 
Madame  Florimond,  out  of  that  bad  hole  in  which 
she  was,  regarding  the  inheritance  of  her  good 
friend?—" 

"It  is  the  same  man,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Was  it  not  horrible,"  cried  the  Cibot,  "that 
after  having  obtained  for  her  two  thousand  francs 
of  income,  she  refused  to  him  her  hand  which  he 
asked,  and  that  she  considered  herself  quit  with 
him,  they  say,  by  giving  him  twelve  shirts  of 
Holland  linen,  twenty-four  handkerchiefs,  in  fact, 
a  whole  trousseau! " 

"My  dear  Madame  Cibot,"  said  the  doctor,  "the 
trousseau  was  worth  one  thousand  francs  and 
Fraisier,  who  was  then  just  beginning  in  the  quar- 
ter, had  plenty  of  need  of  it  She  had  moreover, 
paid  the  amount  of  his  expenses  without  saying 
anything  about  it — That  affair  there  has  brought 
others  to  Fraisier,  he  is  now  very  much  occupied ; 
but,  in  my  class,  our  customers  are  worth — " 

"There  are  none  but  the  just  who  suffer  here," 
replied  the  concierge.  "Well,  good-bye  and  thank 
you,  my  dear  M.  Poulain." 


Here  commences  the  drama,  or  if  you  prefer,  the 
terrible  comedy,  of  the  death  of  a  celibate,  deliv- 
ered, through  the  force  of  circumstances,  to  the 
rapacity  of  avaricious  natures  grouped  around  his 
bed,  and  which  in  this  case  had  for  allies,  the 
keenest  of  passions,  that  of  picture-mania;  the 
avarice  of  the  Sieur  Fraisier,  who  if  seen  in  his 
cavern  would  make  you  shudder,  and  the  thirst  of 
an  Auvergnat,  capable  of  anything,  even  of  a  crime, 
in  order  to  procure  capital  for  himself.  This  com- 
edy, to  which  this  part  of  the  history  serves  in 
some  sort  as  the  curtain-raiser,  has  moreover  for 
actors  all  the  persons  who  up  to  the  present  time 
have  appeared  upon  the  scene. 

The  abasement  of  words  is  one  of  those  curios- 
ities in  our  manners  which  to  be  justly  explained 
would  require  volumes.  To  write  to  an  attorney, 
addressing  him  as  Homme  de  lot,  man  of  law,  would 
be  to  offend  him  as  much  as  you  would  offend  a 
wholesale  merchant  of  colonial  produce  by  address- 
ing him  thus  in  your  letter, — "Monsieur  So  and 
So,  Grocer."  A  sufficiently  large  number  of  peo- 
ple of  the  world,  who  should  know,  since  in  that  lies 
all  their  knowledge,  these  delicate  distinctions  of 
the  savoir-vivre,  are  still  ignorant  that  the  qualifica- 
tion of  "man  of  letters"  is  the  greatest  insult  that 
you  can  offer  an  author.  The  word  Monsieur  is  the 
(269) 


2/0  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

greatest  example  of  the  life  and  death  of  words. 
Monsieur  means  Monseigneur.  This  title,  formerly 
so  considerable,  now  reserved  for  kings  by  the 
transformation  of  Sieur  into  Sire,  is  given  now  to 
everybody,  and  nevertheless  Messire,  which  is  no 
other  than  the  double  of  the  word  Monsieur,  and 
its  equivalent,  stirs  up  articles  in  the  republican 
journals  when  by  chance  it  appears  in  a  funeral 
notice.  Magistrates,  councilors,  jurisconsults,  judges, 
advocates,  ministerial  officers,  attorneys,  bailiffs, 
counsels,  procurators,  agents  and  counsel  for  the  de- 
fence, are  titles  under  which  are  known  those  who 
administer  justice  or  who  are  in  its  service.  The 
two  lower  rounds  of  this  ladder  are  the  "practi- 
tioner" and  the  "man  of  law."  The  practitioner, 
commonly  known  as  a  recors,  bailiff's  follower,  is 
an  officer  of  the  law  by  chance,  his  office  is  to  assure 
the  execution  of  judgments;  that  is  in  civil  affairs, 
to  be  a  second-hand  executioner.  As  to  the  man  of 
law,  he  is  the  scapegoat  peculiar  to  the  profession. 
He  is  to  justice  what  the  "man  of  letters"  is  to 
literature.  In  all  the  professions  in  France  the 
competition  which  devours  them  has  found  terms  of 
disparagement  Each  condition  has  its  peculiar 
by-word.  The  contempt  which  accents  the  words 
"man  of  letters"  and  "man  of  law"  stops  at  the 
plural.  You  can  say  very  well,  without  offending 
anyone,  gens  de  lettres  and  gens  de  loi.  But  at 
Paris  each  profession  has  its  tail-end,  certain  indi- 
viduals who  exercise  the  trade  on  a  level  with  the 
business  of  the  streets,  with  the  common  people. 


COUSIN  PONS  2/1 

Thus  the  man  of  law,  the  small  business  agent, 
exists  still  in  certain  quarters,  as  there  is  still  found 
at  the  Halle  the  small  lender  at  exorbitant  interest 
who  is  to  a  great  banker  that  which  M.  Fraisier 
was  to  the  Company  of  Advocates.  What  is 
curious  is  that  the  lower  classes  are  afraid  of  the 
ministerial  officers,  as  they  are  of  fashionable  res- 
taurants. They  go  to  these  pettifoggers  just  as  they 
go  to  drink  in  the  taverns.  Everything  on  the 
same  level  is  the  general  lot  of  the  different  social 
spheres.  It  is  only  superior  natures  which  live  to 
mount  the  heights,  which  do  not  suffer  in  finding 
themselves  in  the  presence  of  their  superiors, 
which  make  their  own  place,  like  Beaumarchais 
dropping  the  watch  of  the  great  lord  who  wished  to 
humiliate  him;  but  such  parvenus,  especially  those 
who  know  how  to  make  their  swaddling-clothes  dis- 
appear, are  very  great  exceptions  to  the  rule. 

The  day  after,  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
Madame  Cibot  examined  in  the  Rue  de  la  Perle, 
the  house  in  which  dwelt  her  future  counselor,  the 
Sieur  Fraisier,  man  of  law.  It  was  one  of  those  old 
houses  formerly  inhabited  by  the  small  bourgeoisie. 
You  entered  it  by  an  alley.  The  ground  floor,  partly 
occupied  by  the  porter's  lodge  and  partly  by  the 
shop  of  a  cabinet-maker  whose  workrooms  and 
storerooms  encumbered  a  little  interior  court,  was 
divided  by  the  alley  and  by  the  casing  of  the  stair- 
way, devoured  by  saltpetre  and  dampness.  This 
house  seemed  full  of  leprosy. 

Madame  Cibot  went  straight  to  the  lodge.     She 


2/2  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

found  there  one  of  Cibot's  confreres,  a  shoemaker, 
his  wife  and  two  young  children,  lodged  in  a  space 
of  about  ten  feet  square  lit  from  the  little  court  A 
most  cordial  acquaintance  was  immediately  estab- 
lished between  the  two  women  as  soon  as  the  Cibot 
had  declared  her  profession,  given  her  name  and 
spoken  of  her  house  in  the  Rue  de  Normandie. 
After  a  quarter  of  an  hour  employed  in  gossip,  and 
during  which  the  concierge  of  M.  Fraisier  prepared 
the  breakfast  of  the  shoemaker  and  the  two  children, 
Madame  Cibot  brought  the  conversation  around  to 
the  tenants  and  spoke  of  the  man  of  law. 

"I  have  come  to  consult  him,"  said  she,  "about 
some  business;  one  of  his  friends,  Doctor  Poulain, 
has  recommended  me  to  him.  Do  you  know  Doctor 
Poulain  ?" 

"I  should  say  so,"  said  the  concierge  of  the  Rue 
de  la  Perle.  "He  saved  my  baby  which  had  the 
croup." 

"He  saved  me  also — me,  madame — what  kind  of 
a  man  is  he,  this  M.  Fraisier?" 

"He  is  a  man,  my  dear  lady,"  replied  the  con- 
cierge's wife,  "from  whom  you  get  with  great  diffi- 
culty, the  money  for  carrying  his  letters,  at  the  end 
of  the  month." 

This  answer  sufficed  to  the  intelligent  Cibot 

"One  can  be  poor  and  honest,"  she  observed. 

"I  should  hope  so,"  replied  Fraisier's  concierge. 
"We  do  not  roll  on  either  gold  or  silver,  not 
even  on  sous,  but  we  have  not  a  Hard  that  doesn't 
belong  to  us." 


COUSIN  PONS  273 

The  Cibot  recognized  herself  in  this  language. 
"Well,  my  dear,"  she  replied,  "one  can  trust  him, 
can  you  not?" 

"Ah!  when  Monsieur  Fraisier  wishes  good  to 
some  one,  I  have  heard  it  said  by  Madame  Flori- 
mond  that  he  has  not  his  equal." 

"And  why  did  she  not  marry  him?"  demanded 
quickly  the  Cibot,  "since  it  is  to  him  she  owes  her 
fortune.  That  would  be  something  for  a  little 
haberdasher,  who  had  been  kept  by  an  old  man,  to 
become  the  wife  of  an  advocate. — " 

"Why?"  said  the  concierge,  drawing  Madame 
Cibot  into  the  alley.  "You  are  going  up  to  see 
him,  are  you  not,  madame  ? — Very  well,  when  you 
are  in  his  office,  you  will  know  why." 

The  stairway,  lit  from  the  little  court  by  win- 
dows with  sliding  shutters,  announced  that,  with 
the  exception  of  the  owner  and  the  Sieur  Fraisier, 
the  other  tenants  followed  mechanical  professions. 
The  muddy  steps  carried  the  signs  of  each  trade  in 
presenting  to  the  view  brass  shavings,  broken  but- 
tons, scraps  of  gauze,  bits  of  spartum  for  matting, 
etc.  The  apprentices  from  the  upper  stories  had 
designed  obscene  caricatures  on  the  walls.  The 
last  words  of  the  concierge  in  exciting  the  curiosity 
of  Madame  Cibot  had  naturally  decided  her  to  con- 
sult Doctor  Poulain's  friend,  but  in  resolving  to 
employ  him  in  her  affairs  only  after  having  come  to 
a  conclusion  about  him. 

"I  ask  myself  often  how  Madame  Sauvage  can  re- 
main in  his  service,"  said  as  a  sort  of  commentary 
18 


274  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  concierge  who  followed  Madame  Cibot  "I  go 
with  you,  madame,  because  I  am  carrying  up  the 
milk  and  the  newspaper  to  my  proprietor." 

Arrived  at  the  second  floor  over  the  entresol  the 
Cibot  found  herself  before  a  door  of  the  most  vil- 
lainous character.  The  painting,  of  a  bad  red,  was 
covered,  over  a  space  of  twenty  centimetres,  with 
that  black  layer  which  is  left  by  the  contact  of 
many  hands,  after  a  certain  time,  and  which  the 
architects  endeavor  to  combat  in  elegant  apartments 
by  the  application  of  glass  panels  over  and  under 
the  locks.  The  wicket  of  this  door,  blocked  by  scoria 
of  metal  like  that  which  the  restaurant  keepers  use 
to  give  a  look  of  age  to  their  wine-bottles,  served 
only  to  give  it  still  more  its  right  to  be  called  the 
gate  of  a  prison,  and  was  moreover  in  accord  with 
its  clover-leaf  shaped  iron-work,  with  its  form- 
idable hinges  and  great  nail-heads.  Some  miser, 
or  some  scribbler  at  odds  with  the  whole  world, 
might  have  invented  this  apparatus.  The  lead 
pipe,  through  which  flowed  the  waste  waters  of  the 
household,  added  its  quota  to  the  smells  of  the 
stairway,  of  which  the  ceiling  showed  everywhere 
arabesques  designed  with  the  smoke  of  candles,  and 
what  arabesques !  The  cord  of  the  door,  at  the  end 
of  which  hung  a  dirty  olive  shaped  knob,  sounded 
a  little  bell  whose  feeble  tone  revealed  a  crack  in 
the  metal.  It  seemed  exactly  in  harmony  with  the 
whole  of  this  hideous  picture.  The  Cibot  heard  the 
sound  of  a  heavy  step  and  the  asthmatic  respiration 
of  a  powerful  woman,  and  Madame  Sauvage  showed 


COUSIN  PONS  275 

herself.  She  was  one  of  those  old  women  designed 
by  Adrien  Brauwer  in  his  Witches  Departing  for  the 
Sabbat,  a  woman  five  feet  six  inches  in  height,  with 
a  soldier-like  visage  much  more  bearded  than  that 
of  the  Cibot,  of  an  unwholesome  grossness,  clothed 
in  a  hideous  flowered  gown  of  printed  cotton  goods, 
with  a  handkerchief  around  her  head,  still  using 
curling  papers  made  of  the  printed  writs  which  her 
master  received  gratuitously,  and  carrying  in  her 
ears  a  sort  of  carriage-wheels  in  gold.  This  female 
cerberus  held  in  her  hand  a  tin  skillet,  much  in- 
"Hented,  from  which  the  dripping  milk  diffused  one 
smell  the  more  in  the  stairway  despite  its  nauseat- 
ing sourness. 

"What  is  it  that  you  wish  for  your  service, 
MedZme?"  asked  Mme.  Sauvage. 

And,  with  a  menacing  air  she  threw  on  the  Cibot, 
whom  she  found,  without  doubt,  too  well  dressed,  a 
look  all  the  more  murderous  as  her  eyes  were 
naturally  bloodshot. 

"  I  have  come  to  see  Monsieur  Fraisier  from  his 
friend,  Dr.  Poulain." 

"  Come  in,  MedZme,"  replied  the  Sauvage  with 
an  air  suddenly  becoming  very  amiable,  and  which 
proved  that  she  had  been  notified  of  this  morning 
visit. 

And,  after  having  made  a  theatrical  reverence, 
this  half-male  servant  of  the  Sieur  Fraisier  opened 
the  door  of  the  office,  which  looked  out  on  the  street, 
and  in  which  was  the  former  advocate  of  Mantes. 

This  office  resembled  exactly  those  little  stalls  of 


276  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  under-sheriffs  of  the  third  class,  in  which  the 
pigeon-holes  are  in  blackened  wood,  where  the 
bundles  of  papers  are  all  so  old  that  they  have 
beards,  in  true  clerkly  fashion,  where  the  red  tapes 
hang  in  lamentable  disorder,  where  the  paper  boxes 
smell  of  the  gambols  of  mice,  where  the  floor  is  gray 
with  dust  and  the  ceiling  yellow  with  smoke.  The 
mirror  of  the  chimney  was  clouded,  the  cast-iron 
andirons  supported  an  economical  log,  the  clock  in 
modern  marquetry  was  worth  sixty  francs,  having 
been  purchased  at  some  sale  enforced  by  the  law, 
and  the  candelabra  which  accompanied  it  were  of 
zinc,  but  they  affected  rococo  shapes  with  very  ill 
success,  and  the  painting,  scaled  off  in  many  parts, 
revealed  the  metal  underneath.  M.  Fraisier,  a  little, 
dry  and  unwholesome-looking  man,  with  a  red  face 
_  on  which  the  pimples  betrayed  the  very  bad  state 
of  his  blood,  and  who,  moreover,  incessantly 
scratched  his  right  arm,  whose  wig,  shoved  far  back 
on  his  head,  revealed  a  cranium  of  the  color  of 
brick,  and  of  a  sinister  expression,  rose  from  a  cane- 
$  seated  chair  where  he  had  been  sitting  on  a  circular 
cushion  of  green  morocco.  He  assumed  an  agree- 
able air  and  a  piping  voice,  saying,  in  pushing  for- 
ward a  chair : 

"Madame  Cibot,  I  suppose? — " 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  replied  the  concierge,  who  lost 
her  natural  assurance. 

Madame  Cibot  was  frightened  by  this  voice  which 
resembled  a  good  deal  that  of  the  bell,  and  also  by 
a  glance  still  more  lividly  green  than  the  greenish 


COUSIN  PONS  277 

eyes  of  her  future  counsel.  The  office  smelt  so 
strongly  of  this  Fraisier  that  you  could  readily 
imagine  that  the  air  in  it  was  pestilential.  The 
Cibot  understood  then  why  Madame  Florimond 
had  not  become  Madame  Fraisier. 

"Poulain  has  spoken  to  me  of  you,  my  dear  lady, 
said  the  man  of  law  in  that  false  voice  which  is 
commonly  known  as  a  "little  voice,"  but  which 
remains  always  sharp  and  clear,  like  country  wine. 


Then  this  agent  of  affairs  endeavored  to  drape 
himself  by  bringing  together  over  his  pointed  knees, 
covered  with  a  species  of  thin  woolen  stuff  worn 
threadbare,  the  two  flaps  of  an  old  dressing-gown  of 
printed  calico  in  which  the  wadding  took  the  liberty 
of  issuing  through  several  rents,  but  the  weight  of 
this  wadding  pulled  down  the  flaps  and  discovered 
the  close-fitting  jacket  of  flannel,  grown  black  with 
use.  After  having  tightened  with  a  conceited  air 
the  cord  of  this  refractory  dressing-gown  so  as  to 
show  his  slender  waist,  Fraisier  brought  together 
with  the  tongs  two  sticks  in  the  fireplace  which  had 
long  been  separated,  like  two  brothers  turned 
enemies.  Then  with  a  sudden  thought  he  straight- 
ened himself  up. 

"Madame  Sauvage,"  he  cried. 

"Well." 

"I  am  not  at  home  to  anyone." 

"Eh!  Parbleur,  we  know  that,"  replied  the  virago 
in  a  masterful  voice. 

"It  is  my  old  nurse,"  said  the  man  of  law  with  a 
confused  air  to  the  Cibot. 

"She  has  still  plenty  of  ugliness" — laid, — lait, 
milk, — replied  the  former  heroine  of  the  Halles. 

Fraisier  laughed  at  the  pun,  and  shot  the  bolt  of 
the  door  to  make  sure  that  his  housekeeper  should 
not  come  to  interrupt  the  Cibot's  confidences. 
(279) 


280  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Well,  madame,  explain  to  me  your  affair,  said 
he,  seating  himself  and  still  endeavoring  to  drape 
himself  in  his  dressing-gown.  "A  person  who  is 
recommended  to  me  by  the  only  friend  whom  I  have 
in  the  world  can  count  on  me — yes — absolutely!  " 

Madame  Cibot  talked  during  a  half-hour  without 
the  man  of  law  permitting  himself  the  least  inter- 
ruption ;  he  had  the  curious  air  of  a  young  soldier 
who  listens  to  "one  of  the  old  ones."  This  silence 
and  the  submission  of  Fraisier,  the  attention  which 
he  appeared  to  pay  to  this  cascade  of  words,  of  which 
we  have  seen  specimens  in  the  scenes  between  the 
Cibot  and  poor  Rons,  caused  the  suspicious  con- 
cierge to  forget  some  of  those  forebodings  which  the 
sight  of  so  many  ignoble  details  had  inspired  in 
her.  When  the  Cibot  finally  stopped  and  was  wait- 
ing for  advice,  the  little  man  of  law,  whose  greenish 
eyes  with  black  points  had  not  ceased  to  study  his 
future  client,  was  taken  with  the  kind  of  cough 
called"  the  graveyard,"  and  he  had  recourse  to  an 
earthenware  bowl  half-full  of  some  herb  tea,  which 
he  emptied. 

"Were  it  not  for  Poulain,  I  would  be  already 
dead,"  replied  he  to  the  maternal  regards  which 
the  concierge  bestowed  upon  him,  "but  he  will  give 
me  back  my  health  he  says." 

He  seemed  to  have  lost  the  memory  of  the  con- 
fidences of  his  client,  who  began  to  think  of  leaving 
such  a  perishing  counselor. 

"Madame,  in  cases  of  inheritance,  before  going 
into  them  it  is  necessary  to  know  two  things," 


COUSIN  PONS  28l 

resumed  the  former  attorney  of  Mantes,  becoming 
grave.  "In  the  first  place,  if  the  property  is  worth 
the  trouble  taken  about  it,  and,  secondly,  who  are 
the  heirs;  for  if  the  inheritance  is  the  booty,  the 
heirs  are  the  enemies." 

The  Cibot  spoke  of  Remonencq  and  filie  Magus,  and 
said  that  the  two  shrewd  accomplices  estimated  the 
collection  of  pictures  at  six  hundred  thousand  francs. 

"Will  they  take  it  at  that  price?" — demanded 
the  former  attorney  of  Mantes;  "for,  do  you  see 
madame,  men  of  business  do  not  believe  in  pictures. 
A  picture,  that  is  forty  sous  worth  of  canvas, 
or  one  hundred  thousand  francs  of  painting!  Now, 
the  paintings  of  that  value  are  all  well-known,  and 
what  errors  are  made  in  all  these  valuations,  even 
those  the  most  celebrated !  A  great  financier,  whose 
gallery  was  valued  and  greatly  visited,  and  all  en- 
graved,— actually  engraved! — was  reputed  to  have 
expended  millions  upon  it — He  died,  for  everybody 
dies;  very  well,  his 'authentic'  pictures  did  not 
produce  more  than  two  hundred  thousand  francs !  It 
will  be  necessary  to  bring  me  these  gentlemen.  Let 
us  go  on  to  the  heirs." 

And  Fraisier  resumed  his  listening  attitude. 
When  he  heard  the  name  of  the  President  Camusot 
he  executed  a  shaking  of  the  head  accompanied 
by  a  grimace  which  made  the  Cibot  excessively 
attentive;  she  endeavored  to  read  this  forehead, 
this  atrocious  physiognomy,  and  she  found  only 
an  inscrutable  expression. 

"Yes,  my  dear  monsieur,"  repeated  the  Cibot, 


282  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"my  Monsieur  Pons  is  the  own  cousin  of  the  Presi- 
dent Camusot  de  Marville,  he  goes  over  the  rela- 
tionship to  me  ten  times  a  day.  The  first  wife  of  M. 
Camusot,  the  silk  merchant — " 

"Who  is  going  to  be  created  peer  of  France — " 

"Was  a  Demoiselle  Pons,  first-cousin  of  Monsieur 
Pons." 

"They  are  cousins  born  of  first-cousins." 

"They  are  no  longer  anything  to  each  other, 
they  have  quarrelled." 

M.  Camusot  de  Marville  had  been  during  five 
years  President  of  the  Tribunal  of  Mantes  before 
coming  to  Paris.  Not  only  did  he  leave  there  cer- 
tain souvenirs,  but  he  had  also  preserved  relations 
thereby,  for  his  successor,  the  judge  with  whom  he 
had  been  most  intimate  during  his  sojourn  there, 
presided  still  over  the  tribunal,  and  consequently 
knew  Fraisier  thoroughly. 

"Do  you  know,  madame,"  said  he,  when  the 
Cibot  had  finally  arrested  the  motion  of  the  red 
sluice-gates  of  her  torrential  mouth,  "do  you  know 
that  you  would  have  for  a  capital  enemy  a  man  who 
can  send  people  to  the  gallows? " 

The  concierge  sprang  from  her  chair  with  a 
bound  like  that  of  the  doll  of  that  plaything  called 
"a  jack-in-the-box." 

"Calm  yourself,  my  dear  lady,"  resumed  Fraisier. 
"Nothing  is  more  conceivable  than  that  you  should 
be  ignorant  of  the  power  of  the  President  of  the 
Chamber  of  Indictments  of  the  Cour  Royale  of 
Paris,  but  you  should  have  known  that  Monsieur 


COUSIN  PONS  283 

Pons  had  a  direct,  legal  heir.  Monsieur  le  Presi- 
dent de  Marville  is  the  sole  and  only  heir  of  your 
sick  man,  but  he  is  collateral  in  the  third  degree; 
therefore,  according  to  the  law,  Monsieur  Pons  can 
do  what  he  will  with  his  property.  You  are  also 
ignorant  of  the  fact  that  the  daughter  of  Monsieur 
le  President  was  married,  within  the  last  six  weeks 
at  the  least,  to  the  eldest  son  of  Monsieur  le  Comte 
Popinot,  peer  of  France,  formerly  Minister  of  Agri- 
culture and  Commerce,  one  of  the  most  influential 
men  in  modern  political  affairs.  This  alliance  ren- 
ders the  president  still  more  redoubtable  than  he  is 
as  sovereign  of  the  Court  of  Assizes." 

The  Cibot  shuddered  again  at  these  words. 

"Yes,  it  is  he  who  would  send  you  there, "  resumed 
Fraisier.  "Ah!  my  dear  lady,  you  do  not  know 
what  the  red  robe  is !  It  is  already  quite  enough  to 
have  the  simple  black  robe  against  one!  If  you  see 
me  here,  ruined,  bald,  almost  dead, — very  well ! 
It  is  for  having  run  against,  without  knowing  it,  a 
simple  little  provincial  Procureur-de-roi!  I  was 
forced  to  sell  my  practice  at  the  lowest  price,  and 
very  happy  to  be  able  to  decamp  with  the  loss  of 
all  my  fortune.  If  I  had  tried  to  resist,  I  would  not 
have  been  able  to  retain  my  profession  of  attorney. 
A  fact  of  which  you  are  also  ignorant  is,  that  it  is 
not  only  a  question  of  the  President  Camusot,  that 
would  be  nothing;  but  there  is,  do  you  see,  a 
woman ! — And  if  you  should  find  yourself  face  to 
face  with  this  woman  you  would  tremble  as  if  you 
were  on  the  first  step  of  the  gallows,  the  hair 


284  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

would  stand  on  end.  The  president's  wife  is 
vindictive  enough  to  spend  ten  years  in  enticing 
you  into  a  trap  in  which  you  would  perish !  She 
uses  her  husband  just  as  a  child  spins  its  top.  She 
has  in  her  life  caused  the  suicide  in  the  Conciergerie 
of  a  charming  young  man;  she  turned  white  as 
snow  a  count  who  found  himself  under  an  accusa- 
tion of  forgery.  She  almost  caused  the  outlawry  of 
one  of  the  greatest  seigneurs  in  the  Court  of 
Charles  X.  Finally  she  overthrew  the  Procureur- 
General,  Monsieur  de  Granville." 

"Who  lives  Rue  Vieille-du-Temple,  at  the  corner 
of  Rue  Saint-Francois?  "  said  the  Cibot 

"The  same  man.  It  is  said  that  she  wishes  to 
make  her  husband  Minister  of  Justice,  and  I  am  not 
sure  that  she  will  not  arrive  at  her  object — If  she 
took  it  into  her  head  to  send  both  of  us  to  the  Court 
of  Assizes  and  to  the  galleys,  I,  who  am  as  innocent 
as  an  unborn  babe,  I  would  take  a  passport  and  I 
would  go  to  the  United  States, — so  well  do  I  know 
the  law.  Now,  my  dear  Madame  Cibot,  to  be  able 
to  marry  her  only  daughter  to  the  young  Vicomte 
Popinot,  who  will  be,  they  say,  the  heir  of  your 
proprietor,  Monsieur  Pillerault,  the  president's  wife 
has  stripped  herself  of  all  her  fortune,  so  much 
so  that  at  this  moment  the  president  and  his 
wife  are  reduced  to  live  on  the  salary  of  the 
presidency.  And  you  believe,  my  dear  lady, 
that  in  these  circumstances,  Madame  la  Presi- 
dente  would  neglect  the  inheritance  of  your  Mon- 
sieur Pons? — Why,  I  would  rather  face  the 


COUSIN  PONS  285 

mitrailleuses  than  know  that  I  have  such  a  woman 
against  me. — " 

"But,"  said  the  Cibot,  "they  have  quarrelled— " 

"What  does  that  matter?"  said  Fraisier.  "The 
more  reason!  To  kill  a  relation  of  whom  you 
complain,  that  is  something;  but  to  inherit  from 
him,  that  is  a  pleasure!  " 

"But  the  good  man  holds  his  heirs  in  horror;  he 
repeated  to  me  that  these  persons,  I  remember  the 
names,  Monsieur  Cardot,  Monsieur  Berthier,  etc., 
had  crushed  him  like  an  egg  under  a  tumbrel." 

"Do  you  wish  to  be  smashed  also?  " 

"Mon  Dieu!     Mon  Dieu!"  cried  the  concierge. 

"Ah!  Mame  Fontaine  was  right  when  she  said 
that  I  should  encounter  obstacles ;  but  she  said  that 
I  would  succeed." 

"Listen,  my  dear  Madame  Cibot — That  you  may 
draw  out  of  this  affair  some  thirty  thousand  francs, 
that  is  possible;  but  as  to  the  inheritance,  it  is  not 
worth  while  to  think  about  it — We  talked  about 
you  and  your  affair,  Doctor  Poulain  and  I,  yester- 
day evening." 

Here  Madame  Cibot  again  made  a  bound  on  her 
seat 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

"But  if  you  were  acquainted  with  my  affair,  why 
have  you  let  me  gabble  here  like  a  magpie?" 

"Madame  Cibot,  I  was  acquainted  with  your 
affair,  but  I  knew  nothing  at  all  of  Madame  Cibot! 
So  many  clients,  so  many  characters. — " 

Upon  which  Madame  Cibot  threw  upon  her  future 


286  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

counselor  a  singular  glance,  in  which  all  her  sus- 
picions flamed  out,  and  Fraisier  intercepted  the 
glance. 

"I  resume,"  said  Fraisier.  "Then,  our  friend 
Poulain  has  been  brought  by  you  into  connection 
with  the  old  Monsieur  Pillerault,  the  great-uncle  of 
Madame  la  Comtesse  Popinot,  and  that  is  one  of 
your  claims  to  my  devotion.  Poulain  goes  to  see 
your  proprietor, — note  this ! — every  two  weeks,  and 
he  has  learned  all  these  details  from  him.  This 
old  merchant  was  present  at  the  marriage  of  his 
great-great-nephew— for  he  is  an  uncle  to  inherit 
from,  he  has  some  fifteen  thousand  francs  of  in- 
come; and  for  the  last  twenty-five  years  he  has 
lived  like  a  monk;  he  expends  scarcely  one  thous- 
and crowns  a  year,  and  he  has  related  all  the  affair 
of  the  marriage  to  Poulain.  It  appears  that  this 
row  has  been  caused  entirely  by  your  good  man, 
the  musician,  who  wished  to  dishonor,  out  of  re- 
venge, the  family  of  the  president  It  is  always  well 
to  see  both  sides  of  the  shield.  Your  sick  man 
says  he  is  innocent,  but  all  the  world  regards  him  as 
a  monster." 

"It  would  not  astonish  me  if  he  was  one! "  cried 
the  Cibot  "Just  imagine,  here  are  ten  years  past 
in  which  I  have  given  him  of  my  best,  he  knows  it, 
he  has  my  savings,  and  he  will  not  put  me  into  his 
will. — No,  monsieur,  he  will  not,  he  is  headstrong, 
he  is  a  real  mule — Here  are  ten  days  that  I  have 
spoken  to  him  about  it,  the  old  villain  does  not 
budge  any  more  than  if  he  were  a  milestone.  He 


COUSIN  PONS  287 

does  not  open  his  mouth,  he  looks  at  me  in  a  way — 
All  that  he  says  is  that  he  will  recommend  me  to 
Monsieur  Schmucke." 

"He  intends,  then,  to  make  a  will  in  favor  of  this 
Schmucke?" 

"He  will  give  him  everything." 

"Listen,  my  dear  Madame  Cibot,  it  is  necessary, 
in  order  that  I  may  arrive  at  a  definite  opinion  and 
be  able  to  conceive  a  plan,  that  I  should  know 
Monsieur  Schmucke,  that  I  should  see  the  objects 
which  compose  the  property,  that  I  should  have  a  con- 
ference with  this  Jew  of  whom  you  spoke  to  me ; 
and  then,  let  me  direct  you." 

"We  will  see,  my  good  Monsieur  Fraisier." 

"How,  we  will  see!"  said  Fraisier,  darting  a 
viperous  glance  at  the  Cibot  and  speaking  in  his 
natural  voice.  Ah!  now,  am  I,  or  am  I  not,  your 
counsel  ?  Let  us  thoroughly  understand  each  other. " 

The  Cibot  felt  herself  discovered,  she  had  a  chill 
in  her  back. 

"You  have  all  my  confidence,"  she  returned,  see- 
ing herself  at  the  mercy  of  a  tiger. 

"We  attorneys  are  accustomed  to  being  betrayed 
by  our  clients.  Let  us  examine  well  your  position ; 
it  is  admirable.  If  you  follow  my  counsels  step 
by  step  you  will  have,  I  guarantee  to  you,  from 
thirty  to  forty  thousand  francs  of  this  inheritance. — 
But  this  fine  medal  has  a  reverse.  Suppose  the 
president's  wife  learns  that  the  property  of  Monsieur 
Rons  is  worth  a  million,  and  that  you  wish  to  get 
something  out  of  it,  for  there  are  always  some 


288  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

people  who  would  take  upon  themselves  to  repeat 
these  things!  " — said  he  in  a  parenthesis. 

This  parenthesis,  opened  and  closed  by  two 
pauses,  made  the  Cibot  shiver.  It  occurred  to  her 
immediately  that  Fraisier  would  charge  himself 
with  this  denunciation. 

"My  dear  client,  in  ten  minutes  they  would 
obtain  from  the  good  man  Pillerault  your  dismissal 
from  the  lodge,  and  you  would  be  given  two  hours 
in  which  to  move  out — " 

"What  difference  would  that  make  to  me,"  said 
the  Cibot,  rising  on  her  feet  like  a  Bellona,  "I 
would  remain  in  the  household  of  these  gentlemen 
as  their  confidential  housekeeper." 

"And,  seeing  that,  they  would  fix  up  a  trap  for 
you,  and  you  would  wake  up  one  fine  morning  in  a 
jail,  you  and  your  husband,  under  a  capital  accusa- 
tion." 

"I!"  cried  the  Cibot  "I,  who  have  never  had 
not  one  centime  of  another's ! — I !  1 ! — " 

She  talked  during  the  next  five  minutes,  and 
Fraisier  examined  this  great  artist  executing  her 
concerto  of  self-praises.  He  was  cold,  mocking,  his 
eye  pierced  the  Cibot  like  a  needle,  he  laughed 
inwardly,  his  dry  wig  moved  of  itself.  It  was 
Robespierre  at  the  period  when  this  French  Sylla 
wrote  quatrains. 

"And  how,  and  why,  and  under  what  pretext!" 
demanded  she,  finishing. 

"Do  you  want  to  know  how  you  could  be  guillo- 
tined?" 


COUSIN  PONS  289 

The  Cibot  became  as  pale  as  death,  for  this  phrase 
fell  on  her  neck  like  the  axe  of  the  law.  She  looked 
at  Fraisier  with  a  bewildered  air. 

"Listen  to  me  well,  my  dear,"  resumed  Fraisier 
in  suppressing  a  movement  of  satisfaction  which 
the  fright  of  his  client  caused  him. 

"I  would  rather  leave  everything  there,"  mur- 
mured the  Cibot. 

And  she  wished  to  rise. 

"Sit  still,  for  you  should  see  your  own  danger,  I 
owe  you  my  explanation, "  said  Fraisier  imperiously. 
"You  are  sent  away  by  Monsieur  Pillerault,  no 
doubt  about  that,  is  there  ?  You  become  the  ser- 
vant of  these  two  gentlemen,  very  well !  It  is  a 
declaration  of  war  between  the  president's  wife  and 
you.  You  wish  to  do  everything  in  order  to  get 
hold  of  this  property,  to  get  from  it  leg  or  wing. — " 

The  Cibot  made  a  gesture. 

"I  do  not  blame  you,  it  is  not  my  r&le,"  said 
Fraisier,  in  returning  the  gesture  of  his  client  "It 
is  a  battle,  this  enterprise,  and  you  would  go  further 
than  you  think  with  it!  One  becomes  drunk  with 
one's  ideas,  one  strikes  hard — " 

Another  gesture  of  denial  on  the  part  of  Madame 
Cibot  who  drew  herself  up. 

"Come — come — my  little  mother,"  resumed  Frai- 
sier, with  horrible  familiarity,  "you  will  go  pretty 
far—" 

"Do  you  take  me  for  a  thief? " 

"Come,  madame,  you  have  a  receipt  from  Mon- 
sieur Schmucke  which  has  cost  you  very  little. 
19 


290  THE   POOR  RELATIONS 

Ah,  you  are  here  to  confess,  my  beautiful  lady. — 
Do  not  undertake  to  deceive  your  confessor,  espe- 
cially when  that  confessor  has  the  power  to  read  in 
your  heart — " 

The  Cibot  was  terrified  at  the  perspicacity  of 
this  man,  and  now  understood  the  reason  of  the 
close  attention  with  which  he  had  listened  to  her. 

"Very  well,"  resumed  Fraisier,  "you  can  well 
believe  that  the  president's  wife  would  not  let  her- 
self be  beaten  by  you  in  this  race  for  the  inherit- 
ance.— You  would  be  suspected,  you  would  be 
watched. — You  succeed  in  getting  yourself  men- 
tioned in  the  will  of  Monsieur  Rons — That  is  per- 
fect One  fine  morning,  justice  arrives,  they  seize 
the  sick  man's  drink,  they  find  arsenic  at  the  bottom ; 
you  and  your  husband  are  arrested,  tried,  con- 
demned, as  having  wished  to  kill  the  Sieur  Rons  in 
order  to  get  your  legacy. — I  defended  once,  at  Ver- 
sailles, a  poor  woman,  as  really  innocent  as  you 
would  be  in  this  case ;  things  were  as  I  say  to  you, 
and  all  that  I  was  able  to  do  in  her  case  was  to  save 
her  life.  The  unhappy  woman  was  sentenced  to 
twenty  years  of  hard  labor,  and  she  is  now  serving 
them  out  at  Saint-Lazare. " 

Madame  Cibot's  terror  was  at  its  height.  More 
and  more  pale,  she  looked  at  this  little  dried-up  man 
with  greenish  eyes  as  the  poor  Moor  accused  of 
being  faithful  to  his  religion  might  regard  the 
Inquisitor  at  the  moment  when  he  hears  himself 
condemned  to  the  stake. 

"You  say  then,  my  dear  Monsieur  Fraisier,  that 


COUSIN  PONS  291 

in  letting  you  act,  in  confiding  to  you  the  care  of 
my  interests,  I  will  have  something,  without  any- 
thing to  fear?" 

"1  guarantee  to  you  thirty  thousand  francs,"  said 
Fraisier,  like  a  man  sure  of  his  facts. 

"Now,  you  know  how  much  I  love  the  dear  Doc- 
tor Poulain,"  she  resumed,  in  her  most  wheedling 
voice,  "it  was  he  who  told  me  to  come  here  and  see 
you,  and  the  worthy  man  did  not  send  me  here  to 
be  told  that  I  would  be  guillotined  like  a  poi- 
soner.— " 

She  melted  into  tears,  so  much  had  this  idea  of 
the  guillotine  made  her  shudder,  her  nerves  were 
shaken,  her  heart  was  contracted  with  terror,  she 
lost  her  head.  Fraisier  enjoyed  his  triumph.  In 
perceiving  the  hesitation  of  his  client  he  had  seen 
himself  deprived  of  the  affair,  and  he  had  wished  to 
master  the  Cibot,  to  frighten  her,  to  stupefy  her,  to 
have  her  in  his  power,  hands  and  feet  tied.  The 
concierge,  who  had  come  into  this  office  as  the  fly 
throws  himself  into  the  spider's  web,  should  rest 
there,  netted,  entangled,  as  provender,  for  the 
ambition  of  this  little  man  of  law.  Fraisier  wished, 
in  fact,  to  find  in  this  affair  subsistence  for  his  old 
days,  ease,  happiness  and  consideration.  The  day 
before,  during  the  evening,  everything  had  been 
duly  weighed,  carefully  examined  as  with  a  magni- 
fying glass  by  Doctor  Poulain  and  himself.  The 
doctor  had  described  Schmucke  to  his  friend  Frai- 
sier, and  their  shrewd  minds  had  sounded  the  depths 
of  all  these  hypotheses,  examined  all  the  resources 


2Q2      .  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

and  all  the  dangers.  Fraisier  in  an  outburst  of  en- 
thusiasm had  cried:  "Our  fortune,  for  both  of  us, 
is  in  this,"  and  he  had  promised  Poulain  the  posi- 
tion of  physician-in-chief  of  a  hospital  in  Paris, 
and  he  promised  himself  to  be  juge-de-paix  of  the 
arrondissement 


To  be  Judge  of  the  Peace !  That  was  for  this 
man  of  capacity,  Doctor-at-law  and  barefooted,  a 
vision  so  high  and  so  desirable  that  he  thought  of  it 
as  a  deputy-advocate  thinks  of  the  judge's  gown,  and 
the  Italian  priests  of  the  Papal  tiara.  The  thought 
seemed  folly!  The  juge-de-paix,  Monsieur  Vitel, 
before  whom  Fraisier  pleaded,  was  an  old  man  of 
sixty-nine  years  of  age,  in  sufficiently-bad  health  to 
talk  of  retiring,  and  Fraisier  spoke  of  being  his  suc- 
cessor, to  Poulain,  as  Poulain  spoke  to  him  of  the 
beautiful  heiress  whom  he  would  marry  after  hav- 
ing saved  her  life.  No  one  knows  what  covetous- 
nesses  are  inspired  by  the  various  official  stations  in 
Paris.  To  live  in  Paris  is  the  universal  desire.  If 
an  official  establishment  for  the  sale  of  tobacco,  or 
of  stamps,  becomes  vacant,  one  hundred  women  rise 
up  like  one  man  and  ask  all  their  friends  to  work  to 
obtain  it  for  them.  The  probable  vacancy  of  one 
of  the  twenty-four  collectorships  in  Paris  causes  an 
outbreak  of  ambitions  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies! 
These  prizes  are  given  in  full  council,  the  nomina- 
tion is  an  affair  of  state.  The  appointments  of  a 
juge-de-paix  at  Paris  are  about  six  thousand  francs. 
The  keeper  of  records  in  this  tribunal  is  an  office 
which  is  worth  one  hundred  thousand  francs.  It  is 
one  of  the  places  the  most  envied  in  the  whole  ju- 
dicial order.  Fraisier,  Judge  of  the  Peace,  friend 
(293) 


294  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

of  a  physician-in-chief  of  a  hospital,  would  marry 
richly,  and  would  marry  the  Doctor  Poulain,  they 
would  materially  help  each  other.  The  night  had 
passed  its  leaden  roller  over  all  the  plans  of  the 
former  advocate  of  Mantes,  and  a  formidable  plan 
had  been  conceived,  an  intricate  plan,  fertile  in 
harvests  and  in  intrigues.  Madame  Cibot  was 
the  peg  on  which  this  plan  was  to  turn.  Thus 
the  revolt  of  this  instrument  had  to  be  stopped;  it 
had  not  been  foreseen,  but  the  advocate  had  beaten 
to  his  feet  the  audacious  concierge  in  displaying 
all  the  forces  of  his  venomous  nature. 

"My  dear  Madame  Cibot,  see  now,  reassure 
yourself,"  said  he,  taking  her  hand. 

This  hand,  cold  as  the  skin  of  a  snake,  produced 
a  terrible  impression  on  the  concierge.  There 
resulted  from  it  something  like  a  physical  reaction 
which  put  an  end  to  her  emotion ;  the  toad  Astaroth 
of  Madame  Fontaine  seemed  to  her  less  dangerous 
to  touch  than  this  poison  bag  covered  with  a  reddish 
wig  and  who  spoke  with  a  voice  like  the  creaking 
of  a  door. 

"Do  not  believe  that  I  frightened  you  wrongly," 
resumed  Fraisier,  after  having  noted  this  new 
movement  of  repulsion  on  the  part  of  the  Cibot 
"The  affairs  which  make  the  terrible  reputation  of 
Madame  la  Presidente  are  so  well  known  at  the 
Palais  that  you  can  consult  over  there  anyone  you 
wish  to.  The  great  lord  whom  she  almost  caused 
to  be  outlawed  is  the  Marquis  d'Espard.  The  Marquis 
d'Esgrignon  is  the  one  who  was  saved  from  the 


COUSIN  PONS  295 

galleys.  The  young  man,  rich,  handsome,  full  of 
promise  of  the  future,  who  was  going  to  marry  a 
demoiselle  belonging  to  one  of  the  first  families  of 
France  and  who  hung  himself  in  one  of  the  dungeons 
of  the  Conciergerie  was  the  celebrated  Lucien  de 
Rubempre,  whose  affair  stirred  up  all  Paris  at  the 
time.  There  was  a  question  here  of  an  inheritance, 
that  of  a  kept  woman,  the  famous  Esther,  who  left 
several  millions  and  this  young  man  was  accused  of 
having  poisoned  her,  because  he  was  the  heir  named 
in  the  will.  This  young  poet  was  not  in  Paris 
when  the  woman  died,  he  did  not  know  that  he 
was  her  heir. — It  is  impossible  to  be  more  innocent 
than  that  Very  well,  after  having  been  interro- 
gated, by  Monsieur  Camusot,  this  young  man  hung 
himself  in  his  dungeon. — Justice  is  like  medicine, 
it  has  its  victims.  In  the  first  case,  one  dies  for 
society;  in  the  second  one,  it  is  for  science,"  said 
he,  permitting  himself  a  fearful  smile.  "Very  weii, 
you  see  that  I  know  the  dangers. — I  am  already 
ruined  by  the  law,  I,  poor  little  obscure  advocate. 
My  experience  has  cost  me  dear,  it  is  entirely  at 
your  service." 

"By  my  faith!  No,  thank  you,"  said  the  Cibot 
"I  give  up  everything.  I  would  have  been  ungrate- 
ful.— I  only  wish  what  is  due  me!  I  have  had 
thirty  years  of  honesty,  monsieur.  But  Monsieur 
Pons  said  that  he  would  recommend  me  in  his  will 
to  his  friend  Schmucke;  very  well,  I  will  finish 
my  days  in  peace  in  the  house  of  that  good 
German — " 


296  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Fraisier  had  overstepped  his  mark,  he  had  dis- 
couraged the  Cibot  and  was  obliged  to  efface  the 
terrifying  impression  which  she  had  received. 

"Do  not  despair  of  anything,"  he  said.  "You 
can  go  home  tranquilly.  Come,  we  will  conduct 
the  affair  to  a  good  result" 

"But  what  is  it  that  I  should  do,  my  good 
Monsieur  Fraisier,  in  order  to  have  an  income 
and—?" 

"And  not  have  any  remorse,"  said  he,  quickly 
cutting  her  speech  in  two.  "Ah,  it  is  precisely  for 
this  reason  that  lawyers  were  invented;  you  cannot 
have  anything  in  these  cases  without  keeping  your- 
self within  the  law. — You  are  not  acquainted  with 
the  laws — I  know  them. — With  me,  you  will  be  on 
the  side  of  legality;  you  will  possess,  in  peace  with 
all  men;  as  for  the  conscience,  that  is  your  affair." 

"Very  well.  Tell  me,"  resumed  the  Cibot, 
whom  these  words  rendered  curious  and  happy. 

'I  do  not  know,  I  have  not  studied  the  affair  in 
all  its  bearings.  I  have  occupied  myself  only  with 
the  obstacles.  At  first,  it  is  necessary,  you  see,  to 
get  the  will,  and  you  will  not  go  astray ;  but  above 
all,  let  us  know  in  whose  favor  Monsieur  Rons  will 
dispose  of  his  fortune,  for  if  you  should  be  his 
heir—" 

"No,  no,  he  does  not  love  me!  Ah!  if  I  had 
known  the  value  of  his  bibelots,  and  if  I  had  known 
that  which  he  said  to  me  of  his  love  affairs,  I  would 
be  without  uneasiness  to-day." 

"Well,"  resumed  Fraisier,  "go  ahead  all  the  time! 


COUSIN  PONS  297 

Dying  men  have  singular  fancies,  my  dear  Madame 
Cibot,  they  disappoint  a  great  many  hopes.  Let  him 
make  his  will,  and  we  will  see  afterwards.  But  before 
all,  the  question  is  to  have  valued,  the  objects  which 
are  included  in  his  property.  So,  put  me  in  com- 
munication with  the  Jew,  with  that  Remonencq,  they 
will  be  very  useful  to  us. — Have  all  confidence  in 
me,  I  am  entirely  at  your  service.  I  am  the  friend 
of  my  client,  to  hang  or  to  take  down  when  he 
is  mine.  Friends  or  enemies,  that  is  my  nature." 

"Very  well,  I  am  entirely  with  you,"  said  the 
Cibot,  "and  as  to  fees,  Monsieur  Poulain — " 

"Do  not  speak  of  that,"  said  Fraisier.  "En- 
deavor to  keep  Poulain  at  the  bedside  of  the  sick  man. 
The  doctor  has  one  of  the  most  honest  hearts,  the 
purest  that  I  know,  and  it  is  necessary  for  us  to 
have  there  at  your  side  a  man  on  whom  we  can 
depend — .  Poulain  is  worth  more  than  I,  I  have 
become  wicked." 

"Well,  you  look  like  it,"  said  the  Cibot;  but  I 
will  trust  to  you." 

"And  you  will  be  right,"  said  he.  "Come  and 
see  me  when  anything  turns  up,  and  go. — You  are 
a  clever  woman,  everything  will  go  well." 

"Adieu,  my  dear  Monsieur  Fraisier;  good  health 
to  you — Your  servant" 

Fraisier  reconducted  his  client  to  the  door  and, 
there,  as  she  had  done  the  previous  night  with  the 
doctor,  he  said  to  her  his  last  words. 

"If  you  can  persuade  Monsieur  Pons  to  call  me 
in,  that  would  be  a  great  step  gained." 


298  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"I  will  try,"  replied  the  Cibot 

"My  good  woman,"  replied  Fraisier,  causing  the 
Cibot  to  re-enter  his  office,  "I  am  well  acquainted 
with  Monsieur  Trognon,  notary,  he  is  the  notary  of 
the  quarter.  If  Monsieur  Rons  has  not  one  already, 
speak  to  him  of  that  one, — make  him  take  him. — " 

"I  understand,"  replied  the  Cibot. 

As  she  retired  the  concierge  heard  the  rustling  of 
a  gown  and  the  sound  of  a  heavy  step  which  wished 
to  make  itself  light  Once  more  alone  and  in  the 
street,  the  Cibot,  after  having  walked  a  certain 
length  of  time,  recovered  her  freedom  of  spirit. 
Although  she  remained  under  the  influence  of  this 
conference  and  though  she  had  always  a  great  fear 
of  the  scaffold,  of  the  law,  of  the  judges,  she  made  a 
very  natural  resolution,  and  one  which  would  set 
her  in  silent  conflict  with  her  terrible  counselor. 

"And  do  1  need,"  said  she,  "to  get  me  associates  ? 
Let  me  further  my  own  interest,  and  after  that  I 
will  take  all  that  they  offer  me  to  serve  their 
interests." 

This  resolution  would  naturally  hasten,  as  we 
shall  see,  the  end  of  the  unfortunate  musician. 


"Well,  my  dear  Monsieur  Schmucke,"  said  the 
Cibot,  entering  the  apartment,  "how  is  our  dearly- 
adored  sick  man." 

"Nod  veil,"  replied  the  German.  "Bons  drashed 
arount  all  the  nighd." 

"What  did  he  say  then?" 

"Voolishness!  dat  he  vished  dat  I  got  his  vor- 
dune  on  gondission  dat  nuttings  is  zold, — and  he 
gried!  Poor  man!  Eet  has  proken  my  hard." 

"That  will  all  pass  away,  my  dear  lamb,"  replied 
the  concierge.  "I  have  made  you  wait  for  your 
breakfast,  as  it  is  now  after  nine  o'clock;  but  do 
not  scold  me.  Do  you  see,  I  have  had  so  many 
affairs  to  attend  to — on  your  account  You  see  that 
we  havn't  nothing  left  I  have  got  some  money! " 

"Ant  how,"  said  the  pianist 

"Why,  my  uncle!" 

"Vatungle?" 

"Up  the  spout!" 

"Te  Zbout?" 

"Oh,  you  dear  man!  Is  he  not  simple!  Oh,  you 
are  a  saint,  a  love,  an  archbishop,  an  innocent  who 
can  be  stuffed  with  straw,  as  the  old  actor  said. 
How !  you  have  been  in  Paris  for  the  last  twenty- 
nine  years,  you  have  s^en,  what, — the  Revolution 
of  July,  and  yet  don't  know  what  a  pawnbroker  is 
— the  commissioner  who  lends  you  money  on  your 
(299) 


300  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

goods ! — I  have  taken  him  all  our  silver  dishes,  eight 
of  them,  with  bead  edges.  The  Cibot  can  eat  out 
of  Algiers  metal,  that  is  plenty  well  enough,  as 
they  say.  And  it  is  not  worth  the  while  to  speak 
of  that  to  our  cherub,  that  will  stir  him  up  and  make 
him  yellow,  and  he  is  irritable  enough  as  it  is.  Let 
us  save  him  before  everything  else,  and  we  will  see 
to  other  things  afterwards.  Ah,  well !  at  the  time, 
follow  the  fashion.  When  at  war,  do  as  at  war,  isn't 
that  so?" 

"Good  vooman,  suplime  hard!"  said  the  poor 
musician,  taking  the  hand  of  the  Cibot  and  putting 
it  on  his  heart,  with  a  tender  expression. 

The  angel  lifted  her  eyes  to  heaven  and  showed 
them  full  of  tears. 

"Come,  finish  now,  papa  Schmucke!  you  are 
absurd.  Is  not  that  a  little  too  strong?  I  am  only 
an  old  girl  of  the  people,  I  carry  my  heart  on  my 
sleeve.  Yes,  I  have  something  here,  do  you  see," 
she  cried,  striking  her  breast,  "as  well  as  you  both, 
though  you  have  hearts  of  gold. — " 

"Baba  Schmucke?"  replied  the  musician,  "No, 
to  zuffer  zuch  crief,  to  veep  dears  of  plood,  to  bray 
to  Heaven  zo  much,  eet  ees  too  much  for  me !  I  can 
nefer  zurfife  Bons. " 

"Parbleu!  I  believe  you.  You  will  kill  yourself 
— Listen  my  love — " 

"Lov!" 

"Well,  yes,  my  little  son—" 

"Zon?" 

"My  little  duck,  then,  if  you  like  that  better." 


COUSIN  PONS  301 

"I  toan'd  know  qvite  vat  you  zay." 

"Well,  well,  you  let  me  take  care  of  you  and  tell 
you  what  to  do,  or  if  you  continue  on  this  way,  do 
you  see,  I  will  have  two  sick  men  on  my  hands — 
According  to  my  stupid  ideas,  we  have  got  to  divide 
the  nursing  between  us  here.  You  cannot  go  on 
giving  lessons  in  Paris  for  that  wears  you  out  and 
you  are  no  longer  good  for  anything  here,  where 
you  will  have  to  sit  up  nights,  for  Monsieur  Rons  is 
going  to  be  more  and  more  sick.  I  am  going  to  go 
to-day  to  call  round  on  all  your  pupils  and  tell  them 
you  are  ill — ain't  I  ?  Then  you  will  be  able  to  sit  up 
at  nights  with  our  dear  lamb,  and  you  can  sleep  in 
the  morning  from  five  o'clock  up  to,  suppose,  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  I'll  do  the  hardest  nurs- 
ing, that  is  in  the  day  time,  because  it  will  be 
necessary  to  get  your  breakfast  for  you  and  your 
dinner  and  to  take  care  of  the  sick  one,  to  get  him 
up,  to  change  his  bed,  to  give  him  his  medicine. — 
For  to  go  on  as  I  am  doing  now  I  couldn't  stand  it 
ten  days  longer,  nohow.  And  here's  already  thirty 
days  that  we  have  been  keeping  this  thing  up. 
And  what  will  become  of  you  both  if  1  should  fall 
sick  ? — And  you,  yourself,  it  is  enough  to  make  one 
shiver  to  see  in  what  a  state  you  are  after  having 
watched  over  monsieur  just  last  night. — " 

She  led  Schmucke  up  to  a  mirror,  and  Schmucke 
saw  that  he  was  very  much  changed. 

"So,  if  you  will  be  guided  by  me,  I  will  get  you 
your  breakfast  right  off.  Then  you  can  watch  our 
sick  love  till  two  o'clock.  Then  if  you  will  give 


302  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

me  the  list  of  your  pupils,  I  will  soon  have  seen 
them  all  and  you  will  then  be  at  liberty  for  a  couple 
of  weeks.  You  shall  go  to  bed  as  soon  as  ever  1  get 
back  and  you  shall  sleep  till  the  evening." 

This  proposition  was  so  sensible  that  Schmucke 
agreed  to  it  at  once. 

"Mum  with  Monsieur  Pons;  for  you  know  he 
would  think  himself  done  for  if  we  should  tell  him 
like  that  that  he  must  give  up  the  theatre  and  his 
lessons.  The  poor  monsieur  would  imagine  that  he 
would  never  get  back  his  scholars — or  some  such 
nonsense — Monsieur  Poulain  said  that  we  can  only 
save  our  dear  Benjamin  by  leaving  his  mind  as 
easy  as  possible." 

"Veil,  veil — make  te  prekfest  ant  I  vill  make  a 
lizt  ant  gif  you  te  attr esses — you  are  righd,  I  gom- 
prehend." 

An  hour  later  the  Cibot,  in  her  Sunday  best, 
departed  in  great  state,  to  the  great  amazement  of 
Remonencq,  promising  herself  to  represent,  in  a 
suitable  manner,  the  confidential  housekeeper  of 
the  two  Nut-crackers  in  all  the  boarding-schools  and 
to  all  the  private  pupils  of  the  two  musicians. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  repeat  the  divers  discourses, 
executed  like  the  variations  of  a  theme,  into  which 
the  Cibot  launched  in  presence  of  the  mistresses  of 
the  boarding-schools  and  in  the  bosom  of  families; 
it  will  suffice  to  depict  the  scene  which  took  place 
in  the  official  cabinet  of  The  Illustrious  Gaudissart, 
into  which  the  concierge  penetrated,  not  without 
meeting  unheard-of  difficulties.  The  directors  of 


COUSIN  PONS  303 

Parisian  theatres  are  better  guarded  than  kings 
and  their  ministers.  The  reason  for  the  strong 
barriers  which  they  erect  between  themselves  and 
other  mortals  is  easy  to  comprehend, — kings  have 
only  to  defend  themselves  against  ambitions;  the 
directors  of  theatres  have  to  fear  the  self-love  of 
artists  and  of  authors. 

The  Cibot,  however,  overcame  all  obstacles  by 
the  prompt  intimacy  which  she  established  between 
herself  and  the  concierge.  These  porters  have  a 
common  ground  of  recognition,  like  all  the  people  of 
the  same  profession.  Each  occupation  has  its  shib- 
boleth, as  it  has  its  misfortunes  and  its  scars. 

"Ah,  madame,  you  are  the  door-keeper  of  a  the- 
atre," the  Cibot  had  begun.  "I  am  only  a  poor 
concierge  of  a  house  in  the  Rue  de  Normandie  where 
Monsieur  Pons  lives,  your  orchestra  leader.  Oh! 
how  happy  I  would  be  if  I  had  your  place  and  could 
see  passing  all  the  time  the  actors,  and  the  dancers 
and  the  authors!  That  must  be,  as  the  old  actor 
said,  the  marshal's  baton  of  our  trade." 

"And  how  is  he,  that  good  Monsieur  Pons?" 
asked  the  other. 

"Why  he  is  not  well  at  all ;  here  it  is  two  months 
that  he  has  not  been  out  of  his  bed  and  he  will  only 
quit  the  house  feet  foremost,  that  is  sure." 

"That  will  be  a  great  loss — " 

"Yes.  I  have  come  from  him  to  explain  his  posi- 
tion to  your  director ;  can't  you  manage  then,  my 
dear,  to  let  me  see  him  ? — " 

"A  lady  from  Monsieur  Pons!" 


304  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

It  was  thus  that  the  valet  of  the  theatre  attached 
to  the  director's  cabinet  announced  Madame  Cibot, 
having  received  his  cue  from  the  concierge  of  the 
theatre.  Gaudissart  had  just  arrived  for  a  rehearsal. 
Chance  arranged  it  so  that  no  one  was  waiting  to 
speak  to  him,  that  the  authors  of  the  play  and  the 
actors  were  all  late;  he  was  delighted  to  have  news 
from  his  orchestra  leader,  he  made  a  Napoleonic 
gesture,  and  the  Cibot  entered. 

This  former  commercial  traveler,  now  at  the  head 
of  a  popular  theatre,  imposed  upon  his  joint-stock 
company,  regarding  it  much  as  a  man  regards  a 
legitimate  wife.  Thus  he  had  arrived  at  a  financial 
development  which  re-acted  upon  his  own  person. 
Grown  fat  and  large,  rosy  with  good  living  and 
prosperity,  Gaudissart  had  frankly  come  out  as  a 
Mondor. 

"We  are  aiming  for  Beaujon!"he  would  say, 
hoping  to  be  the  first  to  make  a  joke  at  his  own 
expense. 

"You  are  yet  only  as  far  as  Turcaret,"  retorted 
Bixiou,  who  supplanted  him  sufficiently  often  in  the 
smiles  of  the  first  dancer  of  the  theatre,  the  cele- 
brated Heloise  Brisetout 

In  fact,  the  ex-Illustrious  Gaudissart  exploited  his 
theatre  solely,  determinedly  and  doggedly  in  his  own 
interests.  After  having  got  himself  admitted  as 
collaborateur  in  various  ballets,  comedies  and  vaud- 
evilles, he  had  bought  out  the  other  half,  profiting 
by  the  necessities  in  which  the  authors  find  them- 
selves. 


COUSIN  PONS  305 

These  pieces,  these  vaudevilles,  always  added  to 
the  successful  dramas,  brought  to  Gaudissart  several 
pieces  of  gold  every  day.  He  traded  by  proxy  on 
the  sale  of  the  tickets  and  he  claimed  for  himself  as 
feux,  or  perquisites,  of  the  director  a  certain  number 
which  insured  him  a  tithe  of  the  receipts.  These 
three  sources  of  managerial  revenue,  in  addition  to 
the  letting  of  boxes  and  the  presents  received  from 
indifferent  actresses  who  wanted  to  fill  the  minor 
parts  and  who  wanted  to  show  themselves  as  pages, 
as  queens,  ran  up  the  total  of  his  third  of  the  profits 
so  well  that  the  stockholders,  to  whom  the  other  two- 
thirds  belonged,  practically  received  little  more  than 
a  tenth  of  the  actual  receipts.  Nevertheless,  this 
tenth  produced  an  interest  of  15  per  cent  on  the 
stock.  Consequently,  Gaudissart,  backed  by  the 
support  of  these  1 5  per  cent  dividends,  was  accus- 
tomed to  speak  of  his  intelligence,  of  his  probity, 
of  his  zeal,  and  of  the  great  good  fortune  of  his 
stockholders.  When  Comte  Popinot,  with  a  pre- 
tense of  interest,  asked  Monsieur  Matifat,  General 
Gouraud,  Matifat's  son-in-law,  or  Crevel,  if  they 
were  satisfied  with  Gaudissart,  Gouraud,  lately 
made  peer  of  France,  replied: 

"They  say  that  he  cheats  us — but  he  is  so  clever, 
such  a  good  fellow,  that  we  are  satisfied — " 

"Then  it  is  like  the  old  fable  of  La  Fontaine," 
said  the  former  minister,  smiling. 

Gaudissart  employed  his  capital  in  business 
affairs  outside  the  theatre.  He  had  so  well  taken 
the  measure  of  the  Graffs,  the  Schwabs  and  the 


306  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Brunners  that  he  invested  in  the  railways  which 
their  bank  had  launched.  Concealing  his  shrewd- 
ness beneath  the  roundness  and  the  careless  ease  of 
a  libertine,  of  a  voluptuary,  he  had  the  air  of  being 
concerned  only  with  his  pleasures  and  with  his 
toilet;  but  he,  in  fact,  thought  of  everything,  and 
put  to  use  the  immense  experience  of  affairs  which 
he  had  acquired  as  a  commercial  traveler.  This 
parvenu,  who  never  took  himself  seriously,  lived  in 
a  luxurious  apartment  decorated  by  an  upholsterer, 
and  in  which  he  gave  little  suppers  and  f£tes  to 
celebrated  people.  Ostentatious, liking  to  do  things 
handsomely,  he  affected  the  airs  of  an  easy,  accom- 
modating man  and  he  seemed  all  the  less  dangerous 
that  he  had  retained  the  "platine,"  or  glibness,  to 
use  his  own  expression,  of  his  former  calling,  to 
which  he  added  the  slang  of  the  green-room.  Now, 
as  in  the  theatres  the  actors  say  things  very  bluntly, 
he  was  able  to  borrow  enough  wit  behind  the  scenes, 
to  give  him,  when  added  to  the  lively  jokes  of  the 
commercial  traveler,  the  air  of  a  superior  man.  At 
the  present  moment  he  was  thinking  of  selling  his 
theatrical  license  and  "passing"  to  use  his  own 
language,  "to  other  labors."  He  wished  to  be  the 
president  of  a  railroad,  to  become  a  solid  man,  an 
administrator,  and  to  marry  the  daughter  of  one  of 
the  richest  Mayors  of  Paris,  Mile.  Minard.  He 
hoped  to  be  elected  deputy  on  his  "line"  and  to  rise 
under  the  protection  of  Popinot  to  the  Council  of 
State. 


"To  whom  have  I  the  honor  of  speaking?"  said 
Gaudissart,  directing  upon  Madame  Cibot  his  man- 
agerial glance. 

"I  am,  monsieur,  the  confidential  housekeeper  of 
Monsieur  Rons." 

"Ah,  indeed!  and  how  is  he,  the  dear  fellow?" 

"Ill — very  ill,  monsieur." 

"The  devil — the  devil ! — I  am  sorry  for  it — I  will 
go  and  see  him,  for  he  is  one  of  those  rare  men — " 

"Ah!  yes,  monsieur,  a  real  cherub. — I  sometimes 
ask  myself  how  such  a  man  can  ever  belong  to  a 
theatre  company. — " 

"But,  madame,  the  theatre  is  a  place  for  the 
improvement  of  morals,"  said  Gaudissart  "Poor 
Rons ! — My  word  of  honor,  it  takes  good  seed  to  pro- 
duce that  sort — he  is  a  model  man,  and  such  a  tal- 
ent! When  do  you  think  he  can  get  back  to  his 
post?  For  the  theatre,  unfortunately,  is  like  the 
diligences,  which  start  at  the  hour,  full  or  empty. 
The  curtain  goes  up  here  every  day  at  six  o'clock 
and  we  may  be  as  sorry  as  we  like,  but  that  won't 
lead  the  music.  Come,  how  is  he,  really?" 

"Alas,  my  good  monsieur,"  said  the  Cibot,  pull- 
ing out  her  handkerchief  and  putting  it  to  her  eyes, 
"it  is  very  terrible  to  have  to  say  it,  but  I  fear  that 
we  are  going  to  have  the  misfortune  of  losing  him, 
although  we  take  care  of  him  like  the  apple  of  our 
(307) 


308  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

eyes — ,  Monsieur  Schmucke  and  myself;  and  I  have 
even  come  to  tell  you  that  you  must  not  count  any 
more  on  this  worthy  Monsieur  Schmucke,  who  has 
got  to  sit  up  every  night  We  can't  help  doing  as 
if  there  was  still  some  hope,  and  trying  to  pull  the 
dear,  good  man  from  the  jaws  of  death.  The  doctor 
has  no  longer  any  hope. — " 

"What  is  he  dying  of?" 

"Of  grief,  of  the  jaundice,  of  the  liver,  and  all 
that  complicated  with  family  affairs." 

"And  of  a  doctor,"  said  Gaudissart  "He  should 
have  employed  Dr.  Lebrun,  our  physician.  That 
would  have  cost  him  nothing." 

"Monsieur  has  one  which  is  like  the  good  God — , 
but  what  can  a  doctor  do,  notwithstanding  all  his 
skill,  against  so  many  causes?  " 

"I  have  great  need  of  those  two  brave  Nut- 
crackers for  the  music  for  my  new  fairy-piece. — " 

"Is  it  anything  that  I  can  do  for  them?" — said 
the  Cibot,  with  an  air  worthy  of  Jocrisse. 

Gaudissart  burst  out  laughing. 

"Monsieur,  I  am  the  confidential  housekeeper,  and 
there  are  many  things  that  those  gentlemen — " 

At  Gaudissart's  peals  of  laughter  a  woman's  voice 
cried  out: 

"If  you  are  laughing,  one  can  come  in,  old  fellow." 

And  the  first  person  of  the  dance  made  an  irrup- 
tion into  the  cabinet  and  threw  herself  upon  the 
cnly  sofa  that  was  in  it  This  was  Heloise  Brise- 
tout,  wrapped  in  a  magnificent  scarf  called  Alge- 
rine — 


COUSIN  PONS  309 

"What  are  you  laughing  at? — Is  it  at  madame? 
What  place  does  she  want?" — said  the  dancer, 
throwing  him  one  of  those  intelligent  glances  from 
artist  to  artist  which  should  be  made  the  subject  of 
a  picture. 

Heloise,  a  highly  literary  young  woman,  of  much 
renown  in  Bohemia,  intimate  with  the  great  artists, 
elegant,  delicate  and  graceful,  had  very  much  more 
wit  than  have  ordinarily  the  leading  ballet  dancers. 
In  putting  her  questions  she  inhaled  the  pungent 
perfume  of  a  vinaigrette. 

"Madame,  all  women  are  equal  when  they  are 
handsome,  and  if  I  don't  sniff  at  the  pestilence  from 
a  bottle,  and  if  I  don't  plaster  a  lot  of  brick  dust  on 
my  cheeks — " 

"On  top  of  that  which  Nature  has  already  put 
there,  that  would  make  a  fine  redundancy,  my 
child!  "  said  Heloise,  winking  at  her  director. 

"I  am  an  honest  woman." 

"So  much  the  worse  for  you,"  said  Heloise.  "It 
isn't  so  devilishly  bad  to  be  well  kept  if  you  wish! 
And  I  am,  madame,  and  swaggeringly  well,  too!" 

"How!  So  much  the  worse?  It  is  very  fine  for 
you  to  have  Algerine  scarfs  around  your  body  and 
to  give  yourself  airs,"  said  the  Cibot,  "but  you 
have  never  had  half  the  declarations  that  I  have 
received,  Medeme!  And  you  will  never  be  worth 
the  beautiful  oyster-girl  of  the  Cadran  Bleu." 

The  dancer  jumped  up  suddenly,  presented  arms 
and  brought  the  back  of  her  right  hand  to  her  fore- 
head, like  a  soldier  saluting  his  general. 


310  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"What,"  cried  Gaudissart,  "you  were  that  lovely 
oyster-girl  of  whom  my  father  used  to  talk?  " 

"Madame  doesn't  know  then  either  the  cachu- 
cha  or  the  polka  ?  Madame  must  be  over  fifty 
years  old,"  said  Heloise. 

The  dancer  struck  a  dramatic  attitude  and  de- 
claimed the  line: 

"Let  us  befriends,  Cinna! — " 

"Come,  Heloise,  madame  is  not  clever — let  her 
alone." 

"Madame  is  then  '  La  Nouvelle  Heloise '  ? " — said 
the  concierge,  with  a  mock  simplicity  that  was  full 
of  satire. 

"Not  bad,  my  old  woman!  "  cried  Gaudissart. 

"That  is  pretty  old,"  returned  the  dancer.  "The 
joke  is  bald-headed;  find  another  one,  old  lady, — or 
take  a  cigarette." 

"Excuse  me,  madame,"  said  the  Cibot,  "I  am  too 
sad  to  keep  on  answering  you ;  I  have  my  two  gen- 
tlemen very  sick,  and  I  have  pawned,  to  keep  them 
and  to  preserve  them  from  troubles,  everything, 
even  to  my  husband's  coats,  this  morning.  Here, 
you  may  see  the  tickets. — " 

"Oh !  here  the  farce  turns  to  a  drama !  "  cried  the 
beautiful  Heloise.  "What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"Madame falls  in  here,"  said  the  Cibot,  "like—" 

"Like  the  leading  fairy,"  said  Heloise.  "I  will 
prompt  you,  go  on,  Medemel" 

"Come — I  am  busy,"  said  Gaudissart  "No 
more  farces,  no  more  nonsense !  Heloise,  madame 
is  the  confidential  woman  of  our  poor  leader  of  the 


COUSIN  PONS  311 

orchestra,  who  is  dying;  she  has  come  to  tell  me 
not  to  depend  on  him  any  longer ;  I  am  in  an  awk- 
ward situation." 

"Ah!  the  poor  man!  but  we  must  give  him  a 
benefit" 

"That  would  ruin  him!"  said  Gaudissart  "He 
would  have  to  give  the  next  day  five  hundred  francs 
to  the  hospitals,  who  never  believe  that  there  are  any 
other  unfortunates  in  Paris  excepting  their  own. 
No,  look  here  my  good  woman,  since  you  are  evi- 
dently running  for  the  prix  Montyon — " 

Gaudissart  rang  a  bell  and  the  valet  of  the  theatre 
suddenly  presented  himself. 

"Tell  the  cashier  to  send  me  a  note  of  a  thousand 
francs.  Sit  down,  madame." 

"Ah,  poor  woman — see  how  she  cries! — "said 
the  dancer,  "isn't  it  dismal?  Come,  my  mother, 
we  will  all  go  see  him,  cheer  up — See  here,  old 
fellow,"  said  she  to  the  director,  drawing  him  into 
a  corner,  "you  want  to  make  me  play  the  first 
role  in  the  ballet  of  'Ariadne.'  You  are  going  to 
marry,  and  you  know  how  unhappy  I  can  make 
you?—" 

"Heloise,  I  have  a  heart  copper-bottomed,  like  a 
frigate." 

"I  will  show  some  of  your  children! — I  will  bor- 
row some." 

"I  have  openly  declared  our  attachment" 

"Be  a  good  fellow,  give  Pons's  place  to  Garangeot ; 
that  poor  lad  has  talent,  but  he  hasn't  a  sou ;  I  will 
promise  you  to  keep  the  peace." 


312  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"But  wait  till  Rons  is  dead; — the  good  man  may 
come  back  again." 

"Oh!  as  for  that — No,  monsieur — "  said  the 
Cibot  "Since  last  evening  he  has  no  longer  his 
senses — he  is  delirious.  It  will  be,  unluckily,  soon 
enough  finished." 

"You  put  in  Garangeot  for  the  interim,"  said 
Heloise.  "He  has  all  the  Press  on  his  side — " 

At  this  moment  the  cashier  entered,  holding  in 
his  hand  a  note  of  a  thousand  francs. 

"Give  that  to  madame,"  said  Gaudissart, 
"Adieu,  my  good  woman;  take  good  care  of  that 
dear  man,  and  say  to  him  that  I  will  come  to  see 
him  to-morrow  or  the  day  after — ,  as  soon  as  I  can. " 

"A  man  overboard!  "  said  Heloise. 

"Ah!  monsieur,  hearts  like  yours  are  only  found 
in  a  theatre.  May  God  bless  you !  " 

"To  what  account  am  I  to  charge  this?"  asked 
the  cashier. 

"I  will  sign  the  receipt  You  will  charge  it  to 
the  gratuity  account." 

Before  leaving,  the  Cibot  made  an  elaborate 
courtesy  to  the  ballet-dancer,  and  overheard  this 
question,  which  Gaudissart  put  to  his  former  mis- 
tress : 

"Is  Garangeot  capable  of  getting  up  the  music  for 
our  ballet  of  the  'Mohicans'  in  twelve  days?  If  he 
can  pull  me  out  of  this  affair,  he  shall  have  Pons's 
place!" 

The  concierge,  better  paid  for  having  caused  so 
much  harm  than  if  she  had  done  a  good  action, 


THE  CIBOT,  THE  ILLUSTRIOUS  GAUDIS- 
SART  AND  HELOISE  BRISETOUT 


Before  leaving,  the  Cibot  made  an  elaborate  cour- 
tesy to  the  ballet-dancer,  and  overheard  this  question, 
which  Gaudissart  put  to  his  former  mistress: 

"Is  Garangeot  capable  of  getting  up  the  music  for 
our  ballet  of  the  'Mohicans '  in  twelve  days  ?  If  he 
can  pull  me  out  of  this  affair,  he  shall  have  Pans' s 
place/" 


COUSIN  PONS  313 

suppressed  all  the  revenues  of  the  two  friends  and 
deprived  them  of  their  means  of  existence,  in  the 
event  of  Pons  recovering  his  health.  This  perfidy 
was  calculated  to  bring  about  in  a  few  days  the 
result  desired  by  her,  the  necessity  of  selling  the 
pictures  coveted  by  Elie  Magus.  To  contrive  this 
first  spoliation,  the  Cibot  would  have  to  lull  the 
suspicions  of  the  terrible  associate  she  had  taken, 
the  attorney  Fraisier,  and  also  to  make  sure  of  the 
entire  discretion  of  filie  Magus  and  of  Remonencq. 


As  to  the  Auvergnat,  he  had  been  brought  by 
degrees  under  the  dominion  of  one  of  those  passions 
which  are  conceived  by  the  uneducated,  who  come 
to  Paris  from  the  depths  of  the  provinces  with  fixed 
ideas  born  of  the  isolation  of  country  life,  with  the 
ignorance  of  primitive  natures  and  the  brutality  of 
their  desires,  which  are  converted  into  fixed  ideas. 
The  virile  beauty  of  Madame  Cibot,  her  vivacity 
and  her  fish-woman's  wit,  had  long  attracted  the 
second-hand  dealer,  who  wished  to  carry  her  off 
from  Cibot  and  make  her  his  concubine,  a  species 
of  bigamy  much  more  common  among  the  lower 
classes  in  Paris  than  is  supposed.  But  avarice  is  a 
running  noose  which  tightens  more  and  more  around 
the  heart,  and  ends  by  stifling  the  reason.  Thus 
Remonencq,  when  he  valued  at  forty  thousand 
francs  the  payment  to  her  from  6lie  Magus  and 
himself,  passed  from  unlawful  intentions  to  crime, 
and  wished  to  have  the  Cibot  for  his  legitimate 
wife.  This  love,  purely  speculative,  brought  him, 
in  his  long  dreams  of  the  smoker,  leaning  against 
the  door  of  his  shop,  to  wish  for  the  death  of  the 
little  tailor.  He  saw  his  capital  thus  nearly  tripled, 
he  thought  what  an  excellent  saleswoman  the  Cibot 
would  make,  what  a  fine  figure  she  would  cut  in  a 
magnificent  shop  on  the  Boulevard.  This  double 
covetousness  intoxicated  Remonencq.  He  would 
(3i5) 


316  THE  POOR   RELATIONS 

hire  a  shop  on  the  Boulevard  de  la  Madeleine,  he 
would  fill  it  with  the  choicest  curiosities  from  the 
collection  of  the  defunct  Pons.  After  sleeping  on 
cloth  of  gold  and  having  seen  millions  in  the  blue 
spirals  of  his  pipe,  he  would  wake  up,  face  to  face 
with  the  little  tailor,  who  was  sweeping  the  court, 
the  door  way  and  the  street,  when  the  Auvergnat 
was  opening  the  front  of  the  shop  and  displaying 
his  wares;  for  since  the  illness  of  Pons,  Cibot  had 
taken  the  place  of  his  wife  in  her  household  affairs. 
The  Auvergnat,  then,  had  come  to  consider  this 
little,  stunted,  copper-colored  tailor  as  the  sole 
obstacle  to  his  happiness,  and  he  asked  himself 
how  he  could  get  rid  of  him.  This  constantly  grow- 
ing passion  rendered  Madame  Cibot  very  proud,  for 
she  had  attained  the  age  at  which  women  com- 
mence to  understand  that  they  are  growing  old. 

One  morning  when  the  Cibot,  after  getting  up, 
looked  at  Remonencq  with  a  reflective  air  as  he  was 
arranging  the  odds  and  ends  of  his  wares,  she 
resolved  to  find  out  to  what  lengths  his  love  would 
carry  him. 

"Well,"  said  the  Auvergnat  coming  to  her,  "Are 
things  going  as  you  wish?". 

"It  is  you  I  am  troubled  about,"  replied  the  Ci- 
bot "You  compromise  me,"  she  added, "the  neigh- 
bors will  end  by  seeing  you  making  sheep's  eyes  at 
me." 

She  left  the  door  and  went  into  the  depths  of  the 
Auvergnat's  shop. 

"Well,  that's  an  idea,"  said  Remonencq. 


COUSIN  PONS  317 

"Come  here,  till  I  speak  to  you,"  said  the  Cibot 

"The  heirs  of  Monsieur  Rons  are  bestirring  them- 
selves and  they  are  capable  of  giving  us  a  great  deal 
of  trouble.  God  knows  what  will  happen  to  us  if 
they  send  lawyers  to  stick  their  noses  into  every- 
thing, like  hunting-dogs.  I  can't  persuade  Monsieur 
Schmucke  to  sell  some  pictures  unless  you  love  me 
enough  to  keep  the  secret — Oh !  but  a  secret,  so 
that  with  your  head  on  the  block  you  would  say 
nothing — neither  from  where  the  pictures  came,  nor 
who  sold  them. 

"You  understand,  Monsieur  Pons  once  dead  and 
buried,  if  they  find  fifty-three  pictures  instead  of 
sixty-seven,  no  one  will  be  the  wiser !  Besides,  if 
Monsieur  Pons  had  sold  them  while  he  was  living, 
no  one  would  have  anything  to  say." 

"Yes,"  replied  Remonencq,  "it  is  all  the  same 
to  me; — but  Monsieur  £lie  Magus  wants  his  receipts 
all  regular." 

"You  shall  have  your  receipts  good  enough,  bless 
you !  Do  you  think  it  is  I  who  is  going  to  write 
them? — That  will  be  Monsieur  Schmucke!  But  you 
must  say  to  your  Jew,"  she  added,  "that  he  is  to 
be  as  silent  as  you  are." 

"We  will  be  as  dumb  as  the  fishes.  That  is  in 
our  line.  I  know  how  to  read,  but  1  don't  know 
how  to  write,  that  is  why  I  have  use  for  a  woman, 
clever  and  educated  like  you! — I,  who  have  never 
thought  of  anything  but  laying  aside  something  for 
my  old  days,  want  some  little  Remonencqs.  Come, 
you  leave  your  Cibot!" 


318  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Here  comes  your  Jew,"  said  the  concierge.  "We 
can  arrange  matters." 

"Well,  my  good  lady,"  said  filie  Magus,  who 
came  every  third  day  very  early  in  the  morning  to 
know  when  he  could  purchase  his  pictures,  "Where 
are  we  now?" 

"Haven't  you  seen  anyone  who  has  come  to 
speak  to  you  of  Monsieur  Pons  and  his  bibelots  " 
demanded  the  Cibot 

"I  have  received,"  replied  6lie  Magus,  "a  letter 
from  a  lawyer ;  but  as  he  is  a  fellow  who  appears  to 
me  to  be  one  of  those  little  busy-bodies  looking  for 
jobs,  and  I  am  suspicious  of  that  kind,  I  didn't 
answer  him.  At  the  end  of  three  days  he  came 
to  see  me  and  left  his  card;  I  told  my  concierge 
that  I  was  always  out  when  he  came." 

"You  are  a  love  of  a  Jew,"  said  the  Cibot,  who 
was  unaware  of  £lie  Magus's  prudence.  "Very 
well,  my  sons,  in  a  few  days  from  now  I  will  bring  to 
you  Monsieur  Schmucke  to  sell  you  seven  or  eight 
pictures,  ten  at  the  most;  but  on  two  conditions. 
The  first  is  absolute  secrecy.  It  is  to  be  Monsieur 
Schmucke  who  has  sent  for  you,  mind  that,  mon- 
sieur. It  is  to  be  Monsieur  Remonencq  who  pro- 
posed you  to  Monsieur  Schmucke  for  purchaser. 
In  fact,  whatever  happens,  I  am  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  it  You  will  give  forty-six  thousand 
francs  for  the  four  pictures?" 

"Agreed,"  replied  the  Jew,  with  a  sigh. 

"Very  good,"  resumed  the  concierge.  "The 
second  condition  is  that  you  shall  give  to  me 


COUSIN  PONS  319 

forty-three  thousand  francs,  and  that  you  shall  buy 
them  for  no  more  than  three  thousand  from  Monsieur 
Schmucke;  Remonencq  will  buy  four  of  them  for 
two  thousand  francs  and  pay  me  the  surplus — But 
now,  do  you  see,  my  dear  Monsieur  Magus,  after  all, 
that  I  have  thrown  a  mighty  good  thing  in  your 
way — yours  and  Remonencq's — on  condition  of  shar- 
ing the  profits  between  us  three.  I  will  take  you  to 
that  lawyer's,  or  that  lawyer  can  come  here,  with- 
out doubt  You  will  estimate  all  that  there  is  of 
Monsieur  Pons's  at  the  price  that  you  are  willing  to 
pay  for  it  in  order  that  Monsieur  Fraisier  may  know 
the  exact  value  of  the  property.  Only,  he  must  not 
come  before  our  sale,  you  understand  that? — " 

"That  is  understood,"  said  the  Jew,  "but  it  will 
take  some  time  to  see  the  things  and  to  fix  the 
price." 

"You  shall  have  a  half-day.  Come,  that  is  my 
affair. — Talk  that  over  between  you,  my  children, 
so  that  day  after  to-morrow  the  thing  shall  be  done. 
I  am  going  to  see  that  Fraisier  and  to  talk  to  him, 
for  he  knows  what  is  going  on  here  through  Doctor 
Poulain,  and  it  will  be  a  mighty  hard  thing  to  do 
to  keep  him  quiet,  that  rascal  there!" 

Half  way  between  the  Rue  de  Normandie  and  the 
Rue  de  la  Perle,  the  Cibot  met  Fraisier,  who  was 
coming  to  her  house,  so  impatient  was  he  to  get  at 
what  he  called  the  "elements"  of  the  affair. 

"Aha!  1  was  going  to  see  you,"  she  said. 

Fraisier  complained  of  not  having  been  received 
by  Elie  Magus;  but  the  concierge  extinguished  the 


320  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

gleam  of  suspicion  which  sparkled  in  the  eyes  of 
the  man  of  law  by  assuring  him  that  Magus  had 
just  returned  from  a  journey  and  that  not  later  than 
the  day  but  one  following  she  would  procure  an 
interview  with  him  in  the  apartment  of  Pons  to 
fix  the  value  of  the  collection. 

"Deal  frankly  with  me,"  replied  Fraisier.  "It 
is  more  than  probable  that  I  shall  be  employed  by 
the  heirs  of  Monsieur  Pons.  In  that  position  I  shall 
be  even  better  able  to  serve  you." 

This  was  said  so  decisively  that  the  Cibot  trem- 
bled. This  starveling  man  of  law  was  evidently 
manoeuvering  on  his  side  as  she  was  manceuvering  on 
hers ;  she  resolved,  therefore,  to  hasten  the  sale  of  the 
pictures.  She  was  not  wrong  in  her  conjectures. 
The  lawyer  and  the  doctor  had  between  them  gone 
to  the  expense  of  an  entirely  new  suit  of  clothes 
for  Fraisier,  so  that  he  might  be  able  to  present 
himself,  decently  apparelled,  before  Madame  la 
Presidente  Camusot  de  Marville.  The  time  required 
to  make  the  suit  was  the  sole  reason  for  the  post- 
ponement of  this  interview,  on  which  depended  the 
fate  of  the  two  friends.  After  his  visit  to  Madame 
Cibot,  Fraisier  proposed  to  go  and  try  on  his  new 
coat,  waistcoat  and  pantaloons.  He  found  those 
habiliments  finished  and  ready  for  use.  He  re- 
turned to  his  own  house,  put  on  a  new  wig  and 
departed  in  a  hired  cabriolet,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning  for  the  Rue  de  Hanovre,  were  he  hoped 
to  obtain  an  audience  with  the  president's  wife. 
Fraisier,  in  a  white  cravat,  yellow  gloves,  a  new 


COUSIN  PONS  321 

wig,  perfumed  with  Eau-de-Portugal,  resembled 
those  poisons  which  are  put  up  in  crystal  bottles,  the 
stoppers  held  down  by  white  kid,  whose  labels 
and  whole  appearance,  even  to  the  thread  around 
the  kid,  are  coquettish,  and  which  nevertheless 
only  appear  all  the  more  dangerous.  His  peremp- 
tory manner,  his  blotched  face,  his  cutaneous  mala- 
dy, his  green  eyes,  his  general  savor  of  wickedness, 
caught  the  eye  like  white  clouds  on  a  blue  sky.  In 
his  study,  as  he  showed  himself  to  Madame  Cibot, 
he  was  but  the  vulgar  knife  with  which  an  assassin 
commits  a  crime ;  but  at  the  door  of  Madame  de 
Marville  he  was  the  elegant  poniard  which  a  young 
woman  hides  in  her  little  bodice. 


21 


A  great  change  had  taken  place  in  the  Rue  de 
Hanovre.  The  Vicomte  and  the  Vicomtesse  Popi- 
not,  the  former  minister  and  his  wife,  had  been 
unwilling  that  the  president  and  his  wife  should 
remove  into  hired  apartments  and  leave  the  house 
which  they  had  given  up  to  their  daughter  as  part 
of  her  dot  The  president  and  his  wife  had  accord- 
ingly transferred  their  establishment  to  the  second 
floor,  now  left  vacant  by  the  removal  of  the  old 
lady,  its  late  tenant,  who  had  wished  to  end  her 
days  in  the  country.  Madame  Camusot,  who 
retained  Madeleine  Vivet,  her  cook,  and  her  foot- 
man, had  recovered  from  the  embarrassment  of  this 
change,  an  embarrassment  somewhat  lessened  by 
an  apartment  of  four  thousand  francs  without  rent 
and  by  an  income  of  ten  thousand  francs.  This 
aurea  mediocritas  already  seemed  insufficient  to 
Madame  de  Marville,  who  wished  a  fortune  to  match 
her  ambition ;  but  the  cession  of  all  their  property 
to  their  daughter  had  entailed  the  loss  of  the  presi- 
dent's vested  right  of  election.  Now,  Amelie  de 
Marville  was  determined  to  make  a  deputy  of  her 
husband,  for  she  did  not  easily  renounce  her  plans, 
and  she  did  not  despair  of  obtaining  the  election 
of  the  president  from  the  arrondissement  in  which 
Marville  is  situated.  For  the  last  two  months  she 
had  been,  therefore,  tormenting  the  Baron  Camusot 
(323) 


324  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

— for  the  newly  created  peer  of  France  had  obtained 
the  dignity  of  baron  to  get  him  to  advance  her  one 
hundred  thousand  francs  on  her  husband's  inheri- 
tance for  the  purpose,  she  said,  of  buying  a  small 
domain  enclosed  in  that  of  Marville  and  which 
brought  in  a  net  rental  of  about  two  thousand 
francs.  She  and  her  husband  would  be  there  on 
their  own  property,  and  near  to  their  children ;  the 
estate  of  Marville  would  thereby  be  duly  rounded, 
and  augmented  by  so  much.  The  president's  wife 
expatiated  to  her  father-in-law  upon  the  depriva- 
tion to  which  she  had  been  constrained  in  order  to 
marry  her  daughter  with  the  Vicomte  Popinot,  and 
she  asked  the  old  man  if  he  wished  to  close  to  his 
eldest  son  the  road  to  the  supreme  honors  of  the 
magistracy,  which  were  no  longer  granted  but  to 
powerful  parliamentary  positions,  a  position  her 
husband  would  know  how  to  obtain,  and  to  make 
himself  feared  by  the  ministry. 

"Those  gentry  grant  nothing  excepting  to  those 
who  twist  their  cravats  around  their  necks  till 
they  stick  out  their  tongues,"  she  said.  "They 
are  all  ungrateful.  What  do  they  not  owe  to  Cam- 
usot!  Camusot,  by  enforcing  the  July  laws,  has 
brought  about  the  elevation  of  the  House  of  Or- 
leans!—" 

The  old  man  protested  that  he  was  already  in- 
volved in  railways  beyond  his  means,  and  he  post- 
poned this  liberality,  of  which,  however,  he  recog- 
nized the  necessity,  until  an  expected  rise  in  stocks 
should  occur. 


COUSIN  PONS  325 

This  half-promise  extorted  a  few  days  previously 
had  plunged  the  president's  wife  into  desolation  of 
spirit  It  was  now  doubtful  whether  the  ex-pro- 
prietor of  Marville  could  be  eligible  when  the  time 
for  the  re-election  of  the  Chamber  arrived,  for  it 
required  absolute  and  peaceful  possession  for  a 
year  and  a  day. 

Fraisier  succeeded  without  difficulty  in  penetra- 
ting into  the  house  as  far  as  Madeleine  Vivet 
These  two  viperous  natures  recognized  each  other 
promptly  as  having  issued  from  the  same  egg. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  Fraisier  suavely,"!  should 
like  to  obtain  a  few  moments'  interview  with  Mad- 
ame la  Presidente  on  a  personal  matter,  and  one 
which  concerns  her  property,  it  is  a  question,  say 
to  her,  if  you  will,  of  an  inheritance. —  I  have  not 
the  honor  of  being  known  to  Madame  la  Presidente, 
therefore  my  name  will  signify  nothing  to  her. — I 
am  not  in  the  habit  of  leaving  my  office,  but  I 
know  the  consideration  due  to  the  wife  of  a  presi- 
dent, and  I  have  taken  the  trouble  to  come  myself, 
all  the  more  because  the  subject  does  not  allow  of 
the  least  delay." 

The  matter  thus  presented,  repeated  and  amplified 
by  the  waiting-maid,  naturally  produced  a  favor- 
able answer.  This  moment  was  decisive  for  the 
two  separate  ambitions  contained  in  Fraisier. 
Therefore,  in  spite  of  all  the  intrepidity  of  the  little 
provincial  lawyer,  pugnacious,  bitter  and  incisive, 
he  felt  that  which  all  great  captains  experience  at 
the  opening  of  a  battle  upon  which  depends  the 


326  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

success  of  a  campaign.  As  he  entered  the  little 
salon  in  which  Amelie  waited  for  him,  he  felt  that 
which  no  sudorific,  however  powerful  it  might  be, 
would  be  able  ever  to  produce  again  upon  his  skin, 
hardened  and  choked  up  by  odious  maladies, —  he 
felt  a  cold  sweat  upon  his  back  and  on  his  forehead. 

"Even  if  my  fortune  is  not  made,"  said  he  to 
himself,  "I  am  saved,  for  Poulain  promises  me 
health  on  the  day  on  which  perspiration  should 
set  in.  Madame" — said  he,  seeing  the  presi- 
dent's wife,  who  came  forward  en  negligL 

And  he  stopped  short  to  bow  with  that  subser- 
viency, which  among  ministerial  officers  is  the  recog- 
nition of  the  superior  quality  of  those  whom  they 
address. 

"Sit  down,  monsieur,"  said  the  president's  wife, 
recognizing  at  once  a  man  of  the  legal  world. 

"Madame  la  Presidente,  if  I  have  taken  the  liberty 
of  addressing  you  on  a  matter  which  concerns  Mon- 
sieur le  President,  it  is  that  I  have  the  certainty  that 
Monsieur  de  Marville,  in  the  high  position  which 
he  occupies,  would  perhaps  let  things  take  their 
chances,  and  that  he  would  lose  seven  or  eight 
hundred  thousand  francs  which  the  ladies,  who  in 
my  opinion  know  much  more  about  private  affairs 
than  the  best  magistrates,  would  not  be  so  ready  to 
despise." 

"You  have  spoken  of  an  inheritance,"  said  the 
president's  wife,  interrupting  him. 

Dazzled  by  the  sum  named,  and  wishing  to  hide 
her  astonishment,  her  delight,  Amelie  imitated 


COUSIN  PONS  327 

those  impatient  readers  of  novels  who  cannot  wait 
for  the  end  of  the  plot 

"Yes,  madame,  of  an  inheritance  lost  to  you, 
oh!  quite  entirely  lost,  but  which  I  can,  which  I 
shall  know  how  to  recover  for  you." 

"Go  on,  monsieur,"  said  Madame  de  Marville, 
coldly  measuring  Fraisier  with  a  sagacious  eye. 

"Madame,  I  know  your  eminent  talents,  I,  myself, 
come  from  Mantes.  Monsieur  Leboeuf,  the  President 
of  the  Tribunal,  the  friend  of  Monsieur  de  Marville, 
could  give  him  some  information  about  me. — " 

The  president's  wife  shrugged  her  shoulders  with 
a  movement  so  cruelly  significant,  that  Fraisier  was 
forced  to  open  and  close  rapidly,  a  parenthesis  in 
his  discourse: — 

"A  woman  so  distinguished  as  you,  will  under- 
stand at  once  why  I  speak  to  you  in  the  first  in- 
stance of  myself.  It  is  the  shortest  way  of  arriving 
at  the  inheritance." 

The  president's  wife  replied,  without  speaking, 
to  this  shrewd  remark,  by  a  gesture. 

"Madame,"  resumed  Fraisier,  encouraged  by  the 
gesture  to  recount  his  history,  "I  was  an  advocate 
at  Mantes,  my  practice  was,  as  it  happened,  my 
whole  fortune,  for  I  purchased  that  of  Monsieur 
Levroux,  whom  you  have  doubtless  known?" 

The  president's  wife  inclined  her  head. 

"With  a  certain  sum  which  was  lent  to  me  and 
about  ten  thousand  francs  of  my  own,  I  had  just  left 
the  office  of  Desroches,  one  of  the  best  lawyers  in 
Paris,  where  1  had  been  head  clerk  for  six  years.  I 


328  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

had  the  misfortune  to  displease  the  procureur  du  roi 
at  Mantes,  Monsieur — " 

"Olivier  Vinet" 

"The  son  of  the  procureur  glneral,  yes,  madam e. 
He  was  courting  a  little  lady — " 

"He?" 

"Madame  Vatinelle— " 

"Ah,  Madame  Vatinelle,  she  was  very  pretty 
and  very — of  my  time — " 

"She  was  very  kind  to  me;indeirce,"  resumed 
Fraisier.  "I  was  young  and  active,  I  wished  to 
pay  back  my  friends  and  get  married ;  I  had  to  get 
business  and  I  looked  about  for  it ;  I  soon  brewed 
more  for  myself  alone  than  all  the  other  ministe- 
rial officers.  Bah!  I  had  against  me  all  the  other 
attorneys  of  Mantes,  the  notaries  and  even  the 
bailiffs.  They  tried  to  catch  me  in  some  trickery. 
You  know,  madame,  that  when  in  our  frightful 
trade  they  seek  to  destroy  a  man,  it  is  soon  done. 
They  caught  me  acting  as  attorney  for  both  sides 
in  a  case.  That  is  rather  sharp  practice,  perhaps ; 
but  in  certain  cases  the  same  thing  is  done  in  Paris, 
— the  attorneys  pass  each  other  the  cassia  and  the 
senna.  It  is  not  done  at  Mantes.  Monsieur  Bou- 
yonnet,  to  whom  I  had  previously  rendered  the  same 
little  kindness,  instigated  by  his  associates  and 
encouraged  by  the  procureur  du  roi,  betrayed  me. — 
You  see,  I  hide  nothing  from  you.  Well,  there  was 
a  general  cry — I  was  a  scoundrel,  they  made  me 
out  blacker  than  Marat  They  forced  me  to  sell 
out  and  I  lost  everything.  I  am  now  in  Paris  where 


COUSIN  PONS  329 

I  have  endeavored  to  establish  an  office  for  affairs; 
but  my  ruined  health  only  enables  me  to  work  two 
good  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four.  To-day  I  have 
only  one  ambition,  and  it  is  a  paltry  one.  You  will 
be  one  day  the  wife  of  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals 
perhaps,  or  of  the  first  president ;  but  I,  poor  and 
feeble,  I  have  no  other  desire  than  to  get  some  place 
in  which  I  may  end  my  days  peaceably,  some  post 
in  which  there  is  no  promotion,  some  office  in  which 
I  can  simply  vegetate.  I  want  to  be  juge-de-paix  in 
Paris.  It  would  be  a  mere  trifle  for  you  and  for  Mon- 
sieur le  President  to  obtain  my  nomination,  for 
you  doubtless  cause  sufficient  uneasiness  to  the 
present  Keeper  of  the  Seals  for  him  to  be  glad  to 
oblige  you. —  That  is  not  all,  madame,"  added 
Fraisier,  seeing  that  the  president's  wife  was  about 
to  speak,  and  making  a  gesture  to  her.  "I  have  for 
friend,  the  doctor  of  the  old  man  whose  property 
Monsieur  le  President  should  inherit  You  see  that 
we  are  getting  on.  This  doctor,  whose  co-operation 
is  indispensable,  is  in  the  same  situation  in  which 
you  see  me — a  great  deal  of  talent  and  no  luck ! — It 
is  through  him  that  I  have  learned  how  much  your 
interests  were  in  danger,  for  at  this  very  moment 
in  which  I  am  speaking  to  you  it  is  probable  that  all 
is  finished — that  the  will  which  disinherits  Mon- 
sieur le  President  is  made.  This  doctor  wishes  to 
be  appointed  physician-in-chief  of  a  hospital,  of  one 
of  the  Royal  medical  colleges;  in  short,  you  under- 
stand it  is  necessary  for  him  to  have  a  situation  in 
Paris  equivalent  to  mine. — Pardon  me  if  I  have 


330  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

spoken  of  matters  so  delicate,  but  our  affair  will  not 
admit  of  the  least  ambiguity.  The  doctor  is,  more- 
over, a  man  in  good  consideration,  learned, and  who 
has  saved  Monsieur  Pillerault,  a  great-uncle  of  your 
son-in-law,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  Popinot  Now,  if 
you  have  the  goodness  to  promise  me  these  two 
places — that  of  juge-de-paix  and  the  medical  sinecure 
for  my  friend,  I  undertake  to  bring  you  the  inheri- 
tance almost  intact — I  say  almost  intact  because  it 
will  be  saddled  with  some  obligations  which  it  will 
be  necessary  to  give  to  the  legatee  and  to  certain 
persons  whose  assistance  will  be  positively  indis- 
pensable to  us.  You  need  not  fulfill  your  promise 
until  after  the  accomplishment  of  mine." 

The  president's  wife,  who  during  the  last  few 
moments  had  crossed  her  arms  like  a  person  com- 
pelled to  listen  to  a  sermon,  now  uncrossed  them, 
looked  at  Fraisier,  and  said  to  him : 

"Monsieur,  you  have  the  merit  of  making  per- 
fectly clear  all  that  you  have  to  say  about  your  own 
affairs,  but  as  to  mine,  you  are  of  an  ambiguity — " 

"Two  words  will  suffice  to  clear  up  everything, 
madame,"  said  Fraisier.  "Monsieur  le  President  is 
the  sole  and  only  heir  in  the  third  degree  of  consan- 
guinity,of  Monsieur  Pons,  who  is  very  sick.  He  is 
about  to  make  his  will,  if  it  is  not  already  done,  in 
favor  of  a  German,  his  friend,  named  Schmucke, 
and  the  value  of  the  property  will  be  more  than 
seven  hundred  thousand  francs.  In  three  days  I 
hope  to  have  an  exact  estimate  of  the  amount — " 

"If  this  is  so,"  said  the  president's  wife  aloud, 


COUSIN  PONS  331 

thunderstruck  by  the  possibilities  contained  in  these 
figures,  "I  made  a  great  mistake  in  quarreling  with 
him — in  overwhelming  him — " 

"No,  madame,  for,  were  it  not  for  that  rupture, 
he  would  still  be  as  gay  as  a  lark  and  would  proba- 
bly outlive  you,  Monsieur  le  President  and  myself 
— Providence  has  its  own  ways,  don't  let  us  ex- 
plore them!"  added  he,  to  disguise  the  odiousness 
of  this  thought.  "What  would  you  have?  We  busi- 
ness agents  see  things  as  they  are.  You  understand, 
now,  madame,  that  in  the  high  position  which 
Monsieur  le  President  de  Marville  occupies,  he  will 
do  nothing,  he  cannot  do  anything  in  the  actual 
condition  of  affairs.  He  has  quarreled  mortally  with 
his  cousin,  you  no  longer  see  Pons,  you  have  ban- 
ished him  from  society,  you  had  without  doubt  ex- 
cellent reasons  for  doing  so;  but  the  good  man  is 
sick,  he  leaves  all  his  worldly  goods  to  his  only  friend. 
A  president  of  the  Cour  Royale  of  Paris  has  nothing 
to  say  against  a  testament  in  good  form  made 
under  such  circumstances.  But  between  ourselves, 
madame,  it  is  very  disagreeable,  when  we  have  a 
right  to  an  inheritance  of  seven  or  eight  hundred 
thousand  francs — What  do  1  say? — a  million  per- 
haps, and  are  the  sole  heir  designated  by  the  law, 
not  to  receive  our  own.  Only,  to  arrive  at  this  end, 
you  fall  into  dirty  intrigues;  they  are  so  difficult, 
so  tricky,  it  is  necessary  to  interview  such  common 
people,  servants  and  underlings,  and  to  be  so  inti- 
mate with  them,  that  no  lawyer,  no  notary,  in  Paris, 
can  take  up  with  such  an  affair.  This  demands  an 


332  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

attorney  without  briefs,  like  myself, whose  abilities 
are  serious  and  real,  whose  devotion  is  secure,  and 
whose  position,  unhappily  precarious,  is  on  a  level 
with  that  of  such  people — I  am  occupied  in  my 
arrondissement  with  the  affairs  of  the  small  bour- 
geois, of  the  people,  of  the  laboring  classes — Yes, 
madame,  that  is  the  condition  to  which  I  have  been 
reduced  by  the  enmity  of  a  procureur-du-roi,  now 
become  deputy  at  Paris,  and  who  has  never  forgiven 
me  my  superiority. — I  know  you  well,  madame,  I 
know  the  solidity  of  your  protection,  and  I  have  fore- 
seen, in  such  a  service  rendered  you,  the  end  of  my 
misfortunes  and  the  triumph  of  Dr.  Poulain,  my 
friend." 


The  president's  wife  remained  thoughtful.  It 
was  a  moment  of  frightful  agony  to  Fraisier.  Vinet, 
one  of  the  orators  of  the  Centre,  procureur-general 
for  the  last  sixteen  years,  ten  times  designated  for 
the  robe  of  the  Chancel  lerie,  the  father  of  the  pro- 
cureur-du-roi  of  Mantes,  now  Deputy  at  Paris,  with- 
in the  last  year,  was  the  antagonist  of  this  relent- 
less woman — The  haughty  procureur-general  made 
no  pretense  of  hiding  his  scorn  for  President  Cam- 
usot  Fraisier  was  ignorant,  and  would  be  likely 
to  remain  ignorant,  of  this  circumstance. 

"Have  you  nothing  else  upon  your  conscience 
than  the  act  of  being  an  attorney  on  both  sides  ?"  she 
demanded,  looking  fixedly  at  Fraisier. 

"Madame  la  Presidente  may  see  Monsieur  Le- 
bceuf ;  Monsieur  Leboeuf  was  favorable  to  me. " 

"Are  you  sure  that  Monsieur  Lebceuf  would  give 
good  recommendations  of  you  to  Monsieur  de  Mar- 
ville,  to  Monsieur  le  Comte  Popinot?" 

"I  will  answer  for  it,  especially  as  Monsieur  Oli- 
vier Vinet  is  no  longer  at  Mantes ;  for,  between  our- 
selves, that  little  magistrate  also  kept  the  good 
Leboeuf  in  terror.  Moreover,  Madame  la  Presidente, 
if  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  go  to  see  Monsieur 
Leboeuf  at  Mantes.  It  will  not  be  any  delay,  for  I 
shall  not  know  certainly  the  value  of  the  property 
before  two  or  three  days.  I  wish  to,  and  I  must, 

(333) 


334  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

conceal  from  Madame  la  Presidente  all  the  details  of 
this  affair;  but  will  not  the  price  which  I  expect  for 
my  entire  devotion  be  for  her  a  pledge  of  success?" 

"Well,  get  Monsieur  Leboeuf  in  your  favor  and 
if  the  inheritance  has  the  importance  that  you  give 
it,  which  I  doubt,  I  will  promise  you  the  two  places, 
provided  you  succeed,  of  course." 

"I  will  answer  for  it,  madame.  Only,  you  will 
have  the  kindness  to  send  for  your  attorney  and 
your  notary  whenever  1  shall  need  their  assistance, 
to  give  me  a  power-of-attorney  to  act  for  Monsieur 
le  President,  and  to  tell  these  gentlemen  to  follow 
my  instructions  and  to  undertake  nothing  on  their 
own  account." 

"You  have  the  responsibility,"  said  the  presi- 
dent's wife,  impressively,  "and  you  ought  to  have 
full  powers.  But  is  Monsieur  Pons  so  very  ill  ?" 
she  asked,  smiling. 

"Faith,  madame,  he  might  recover,  especially 
when  cared  for  by  a  man  so  conscientious  as  Doctor 
Poulain,  for  my  friend,  madame,  is  only  an  inno- 
cent spy  employed  by  me  in  your  interest  He  is 
capable  of  saving  that  old  musician;  but  there  is 
there  by  the  side  of  the  sick  man  a  concierge  who 
for  thirty  thousand  francs  would  push  him  into  the 
grave.  She  will  not  kill  him,  she  won't  give  him 
arsenic,  she  will  do  nothing  so  charitable,  she  will 
do  worse,  she  will  assassinate  him  morally  by 
giving  him  a  thousand  annoyances  every  day.  The 
poor  old  man,  if  he  were  in  an  atmosphere  of  silence, 
of  tranquillity,  well  cared  for,  kindly  treated  by 


COUSIN  PONS  335 

friends,  in  the  country,  would  recover;  but  plagued 
by  a  Madame  Evrard,  who,  in  her  youth,  was  one  of 
the  thirty  handsome  oyster-women  that  Paris  has 
celebrated,  grasping,  garrulous  and  brutal, tormented 
by  her  to  make  a  will  in  which  she  should  have  a 
handsome  share — the  sick  man  will  inevitably  be 
worried  into  an  induration  of  the  liver,  in  fact,  the 
calculi  may  be  already  forming,  and  it  will  be  ne- 
cessary to  have  recourse,  to  extract  them,  to  an 
operation  which  he  will  not  survive — The  doctor, 
a  good  soul ! — is  in  a  frightful  situation.  He  ought 
to  send  away  that  woman — " 

"But  this  Megasra  is  a  monster!"  cried  the  presi- 
dent's wife,  in  her  fluty  little  voice. 

This  vocal  likeness  between  the  terrible  presi- 
dent's wife  and  himself,  made  Fraisier  smile  inward- 
ly, for  he  knew  very  well  what  to  expect  from 
these  soft,  fictitious  modulations  of  a  naturally 
sharp  voice.  He  recalled  that  president,  the  hero 
of  one  of  the  tales  of  Louis  XL,  whom  that  monarch 
put  an  end  to  by  a  Sign  Manuel.  This  magistrate, 
endowed  with  a  wife  patterned  after  that  of  Soc- 
rates, and  not  having  himself  the  philosophy  of 
that  great  man,  caused  salt  to  be  mixed  with  the 
oats  of  his  horses  and  forbade  that  they  should  be 
allowed  any  water.  When  his  wife  was  driving 
to  her  country-place  along  the  banks  of  the  Seine, 
the  horses  rushed  into  the  river  to  drink,  carrying 
her  with  them,  and  the  magistrate  thanked  Provi- 
dence who  had  so  "naturally"  relieved  him  of 
his  wife.  In  this  moment  Madame  de  Marville 


336  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

was  thanking  God  for  having  placed  beside  Pons  a 
woman  who  would  relieve  her  of  him  "honestly." 

"I  would  not  wish  to  have  a  million,"  said  she, 
"at  the  price  of  an  impropriety. — Your  friend 
should  warn  Monsieur  Pons  and  have  that  concierge 
sent  away. ' ' 

"In  the  first  place,  madame,  Monsieurs  Schmucke 
and  Pons  believe  this  woman  to  be  an  angel,  and 
would  send  away  my  friend  instead.  Then  this  atro- 
cious oyster-woman  is  the  benefactress  of  the  doctor. 
It  was  she  who  introduced  him  to  Monsieur  Pille- 
rault.  He  recommends  to  this  woman  the  greatest 
gentleness  with  the  sick  man,  but  his  recommenda- 
tions only  indicate  to  this  creature  the  means  of 
making  the  sick  man  worse." 

'"What  does  your  friend  think  of  my  cousin's 
state  ?"asked  the  president's  wife. 

Fraisier  made  Madame  de  Marville  tremble  by 
the  explicitness  of  his  answer  and  by  the  clearness 
with  which  he  penetrated  into  her  heart — a  heart 
as  rapacious  as  that  of  the  Cibot 

"In  six  weeks  the  inheritance  will  be  declared." 

The  president's  wife  lowered  her  eyes. 

"Poor  man!"  she  said,  trying,  but  in  vain,  to 
look  sad. 

"Has  Madame  any  message  to  send  to  Monsieur 
Leboeuf  ?  I  shall  take  the  train  to  Mantes." 

"Yes,  wait  a  moment,  I  will  write  to  invite  him  to 
come  and  dine  with  us  to-morrow;  I  shall  need  to  see 
him  to  make  some  arrangement  in  order  to  repair 
the  injustice  of  which  you  have  been  the  victim." 


COUSIN  PONS  337 

When  the  president's  wife  had  left  him,  Fraisier, 
who  saw  himself  already  juge-de-paix,  was  no 
longer  the  same  man ;  he  felt  larger,  he  breathed  full- 
lunged  the  air  of  happiness  and  the  good  wind  of  suc- 
cess. Dipping  up,  from  the  unfathomed  reservoir 
of  the  will,  fresh  and  powerful  doses  of  that  divine 
essence,  he  felt  himself  capable,  like  Remonencq,  of 
a  crime  to  insure  success,  provided  that  no  proofs 
of  it  remained.  He  had  advanced  boldly  before 
the  president's  wife,  turning  conjectures  into  cer- 
tainties, confirming  this  and  denying  that,  with  the 
sole  purpose  of  committing  her  to  the  saving  of  this 
inheritance  and  of  obtaining  her  protection.  The 
representative  of  two  lives  of  immense  poverty, 
and  of  desires  not  less  immense,  he  repulsed  with 
a  disdainful  foot  his  frightful  home  in  the  Rue  de  la 
Perle.  He  foresaw  a  thousand  ecus  of  fees  from 
Madame  Cibot,  and  five  thousand  francs  from  the 
president.  That  meant  the  acquisition  of  a  suit- 
able apartment  Then  he  could  pay  off  his  debt  to 
Doctor  Poulain.  Some  of  these  vindictive  natures, 
bitter  and  disposed  to  wickedness  by  suffering  or 
by  disease,  are  capable  of  opposite  sentiments  with 
an  equal  degree  of  violence:  Richelieu  was  as 
good  a  friend  as  he  was  a  cruel  enemy.  In  recog- 
nition of  the  succor  which  had  been  given  him  by 
Poulain,  Fraisier  would  have  let  himself  be  hacked  in 
pieces  for  him.  The  president's  wife,  returning 
with  a  letter  in  her  hand,  watched  for  a  moment, 
without  being  seen  herself,  this  man  who  was 
dreaming  of  a  happy  and  well-provided  life,  and  she 


338  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

found  him  less  ugly  than  at  the  first  glance ;  more- 
over, he  was  about  to  be  useful  to  her,  and  we  look 
at  a  tool  of  our  own  very  differently  from  the  way 
in  which  we  would  look  at  a  neighbor's. 

"Monsieur  Fraisier,  "said  she  ,"You  have  proved 
to  me  that  you  are  a  man  of  intelligence  and  I 
think  you  capable  of  plain  speaking." 

Fraisier  made  an  eloquent  gesture. 

"Well,"  resumed  the  president's  wife,  "I  sum- 
mon you  to  answer  candidly  one  question:  Will 
Monsieur  de  Marville  or  myself  be  compromised  by 
any  of  your  proceedings?" 

"I  should  not  have  sought  you  out,  madame,  if  I 
had  expected  to  have  to  reproach  myself  some  day 
for  having  thrown  mud  upon  you,  were  it  only  a 
speck  as  big  as  a  pin's  head,  for  on  you  the  spot 
would  seem  as  large  as  the  moon.  You  forget, 
madame,  that  to  become  juge-de-paix  at  Paris  I 
must  have  satisfied  you.  I  have  received  in  my 
life  a  first  lesson, — it  was  much  too  severe  for  me 
to  expose  myself  to  receive  any  more  such  thrash- 
ings. Finally,  one  last  word,  madame.  Every 
step  I  take,  when  it  concerns  you,  will  be  previously 
submitted  to  you — " 

"Very  good.  Here  is  the  letter  for  Monsieur 
Lebceuf.  I  shall  expect  now  information  as  to  the 
exact  value  of  the  property." 

"That  is  the  whole  matter,"  said  Fraisier, 
shrewdly,  bowing  to  the  president's  wife  with  all 
the  grace  which  his  physiognomy  permitted  him. 

"What  a  Providence,"  said  Madame  Camusot  de 


COUSIN  PONS  339 

Marville  to  herself.  "I  shall  be  rich  then!  Cam- 
usot  will  be  a  deputy,  for  in  leaving  this  Fraisier 
in  the  arrondissement  of  Bolbec  he  can  get  us  a 
majority.  What  a  tool !" 

"What  a  Providence!"  said  Fraisier  to  himself 
as  he  descended  the  staircase,  "what  a  clever  ac- 
complice that  Madame  Camusot!  I  ought  to  have 
a  wife  of  that  kind  myself!  Now  to  work!" 

He  departed  for  Mantes,  where  he  hoped  to  obtain 
the  good  graces  of  a  man  whom  he  knew  but  little; 
but  he  counted  on  Madame  Vatinelle  to  whom,  un- 
fortunately, he  owed  all  his  misfortunes,  and  the 
disappointments  of  love  are  often  like  the  protested 
notes  of  a  solvent  debtor — they  bear  interest 


Three  days  later,  while  Schmucke  slept,  for 
Madame  Cibot  and  the  old  musician  had  already 
divided  the  duty  of  nursing  and  watching  the 
patient,  she  had  what  she  called  a  "set-to"  with  poor 
Pons.  It  may  not  be  unnecessary  to  call  attention 
to  a  sad  peculiarity  in  cases  of  hepatitis.  Invalids 
whose  livers  are  more  or  less  affected  are  inclined 
to  be  impatient  and  angry,  and  these  angers  give 
them  momentary  relief;  in  the  same  manner  that  in 
accesses  of  fever  an  excessive  strength  is  frequently 
developed.  The  excitement  over,  the  reaction — 
the  "collapse",  as  the  doctors  call  it — sets  in,  and 
the  loss  of  vital  power  in  the  organism  is  evident  in 
all  its  gravity.  Thus,  in  liver  diseases,  more  es- 
pecially in  those  resulting  from  severe  griefs,  the 
patient  falls,  after  these  excitements,  into  a  state 
of  weakness,  which  is  all  the  more  dangerous  when 
he  is  necessarily  subjected  to  a  low  diet  It  is 
a  sort  of  fever  which  fastens  upon  the  temperament 
of  a  man,  for  this  fever  is  neither  in  the  blood  nor 
in  the  brain.  This  excitability  of  the  whole  being 
produces  a  melancholy,  in  which  the  patient  con- 
ceives a  hatred,  even  of  himself.  In  such  a  condi- 
tion, anything  may  cause  a  dangerous  irritation. 
The  Cibot,  not  withstand  ing  the  doctor's  recommend- 
ations, did  not  believe,  she  being  a  woman  of  the 
people,  without  experience  or  education,  in  this 
(34i) 


342  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

straining  of  the  nervous  system  under  the  irritabil- 
ities of  temperament  The  instructions  of  Doctor 
Poulain  were  to  her  nothing  more  than  "doctor's 
talk."  She  was  determined,  like  all  those  of  the 
lower  classes,  to  feed  Pons  well,  and  she  was  only 
prevented  from  giving  him  secretly  a  slice  of  ham, 
a  good  omelet  or  vanilla  chocolate,  by  the  peremp- 
tory order  of  Doctor  Poulain. 

"Give  a  single  mouthful  of  anything — no  matter 
what — to  Monsieur  Pons  and  it  will  kill  him  like  a 
pistol  shot" 

The  obstinacy  of  the  lower  classes  is  so  great  in 
this  respect  that  the  chief  cause  of  their  repugnance 
to  go  to  hospitals,  lies  in  their  belief  that  persons  are 
killed  there  by  want  of  food.  The  mortality  caused 
by  food  brought  secretly  by  women  to  their  husbands 
has  been  so  great  that  it  has  induced  the  physicians 
to  prescribe  a  very  severe  personal  search  on  the 
days  when  the  relatives  come  to  see  the  patients. 
Madame  Cibot,  to  bring  about  a  momentary  quarrel 
necessary  to  secure  her  immediate  ends,  related  her 
visit  to  the  director  of  the  theatre,  not  omitting  an 
account  of  her  "set-to"  with  Mademoiselle  Heloise, 
the  ballet-dancer. 

"But  what  did  you  go  there  for?"  asked  the  pa- 
tient for  the  third  time,  wholly  unable  to  stop  the 
Cibot  when  she  was  once  launched  on  a  flood  of 
words. 

"And  so,  when  I  had  given  her  a  piece  of  my 
mind,  Mademoiselle  Heloise,  who  saw  plain  enough 
what  I  was,  knocked  under,  and  we  ended  the  best 


COUSIN  PONS  343 

friends  in  the  world. — You  ask  me  now  what  it 
was  that  I  went  there  for?"  she  added,  repeating 
Pons's  question. 

Certain  gabblers,  and  they  are  gabblers  of  genius, 
catch  up  in  this  manner  the  interpolations,  the  ob- 
jections and  the  observations  of  others,  as  a  sort  of 
provision  to  furnish  matter  for  their  own  discourse; 
— as  if  the  natural  source  could  ever  dry  up. 

"Why,  I  went  there  to  get  your  Monsieur  Gaud- 
issart  out  of  his  trouble;  he  wants  some  music  for  a 
ballet,  and  you  are  scarcely  in  condition,  my  dear, 
to  scribble  it  out  on  paper  and  go  and  fill  your  place 
— and  I  then  understood,  like  that,  that  they  have 
engaged  one  Monsieur  Garangeot  to  arrange  the 
music  for  the  'Mohicans' — " 

"Garangeot!"  cried  Pons  in  a  fury.  "Garan- 
geot, a  man  without  any  talent !  I  wouldn't  even 
have  him  for  first  violin!  He  is  a  man  of  a  great 
deal  of  cleverness  and  he  writes  very  goodfeuillefons 
on  music;  but  as  for  composing  an  air,  I  defy  him 
to  do  it! — And  where  the  devil  did  you  get  the  idea 
of  going  to  the  theatre  ?" 

"But  isn't  he  obstinate,  the  old  demon  there! — 
See,  now,  my  pet,  don't  boil  over  that  way  like  a 
milk-soup. — Can  you  write  music  in  the  state  you 
are  now  in  ?  Why,  you  haven't  looked  at  yourself 
in  the  glass!  Would  you  like  a  looking-glass?  You 
are  nothing  but  skin  and  bones — you  are  as  weak 
as  a  sparrow — and  you  think  yourself  capable  of 
making  your  notes — Why,  you  can't  even  make  my 
kind — That  reminds  me,  I  ought  to  go  up  to  the 


344  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

gentleman  on  the  third  floor  who  owes  us  seventeen 
francs,  and  that's  worth  picking  up — seventeen 
francs;  for  after  I've  paid  the  apothecary  there 
won't  be  nothing  left  but  twenty  francs — I  had  to 
say  all  this  to  that  man,  who  looks  like  a  good  fel- 
low— that  Gaudissart — I  like  that  sort  of  a  name — 
he  is  a  regular  Roger  Bontemps  who  just  suits  me. — 
He'll  never  have  liver  disease,  he  won't! — So  I  had 
to  tell  him  how  you  were — Gracious !  you  are  not 
well  and  he's  filled  your  place  for  the  time  being — " 

"Filled  my  place!"  cried  Pons  in  a  formidable 
voice,  and  sitting  up  in  bed. 

As  a  general  thing,  sick  men,  and  especially 
those  who  are  within  sweep  of  the  scythe  of  Death, 
cling  to  their  situations  with  all  the  fury  which 
beginners  display,  in  striving  to  obtain  them. 
Thus,  his  being  replaced  appeared  to  the  poor, 
dying  man  as  a  preliminary  death. 

"But  the  doctor  tells  me,"  he  went  on,  "that  I 
am  doing  very  well,  that  I  will  soon  resume  my  or- 
dinary life.  You  have  killed  me,  ruined  me,  assassi- 
nated me!" 

"Ta-ta-ta-ta!"  cried  the  Cibot,  "there  you  go! 
So,  I  am  your  executioner ;  you  say  these  pretty 
things  always,  parbleu!  to  Monsieur  Schmucke  be- 
hind my  back.  I  know  very  well  what  you  say — 
come  now!  You  are  a  monster  of  ingratitude!" 

"But  you  don't  know  that,  if  my  convalescence  is 
retarded  only  two  weeks,  they  will  say  to  me  when  I 
come  back  that  1  am  an  old  wig,  an  old  fogy,  that  my 
time  is  passed,  that  I  am  of  the  Empire,  Rococo!" 


COUSIN  PONS  345 

cried  the  sick  man,  who  wished  to  live.  "Garan- 
geot  will  have  made  himself  friends  in  the  theatre, 
from  the  ticket-office  down  to  the  amphitheatre! 
He  will  have  lowered  the  pitch  for  some  actress  who 
has  no  voice,  he  will  have  licked  Monsieur  Gaud- 
issart's  boots,  he  will,  through  his  friends,  have 
published  favorable  notices  of  everybody  in  the 
journals;  then,  in  a  shop  like  that,  Madame  Cibot, 
they  can  find  vermin  on  the  head  of  a  bald  man! 
What  demon  was  it  sent  you  there?" 

"But,  my  goodness!  Monsieur  Schmucke  talked 
it  over  with  me  for  a  week !  What  is  it  you  want? 
You  see  nothing  but  yourself !  You  are  selfish  enough 
to  kill  people  to  cure  yourself!  There's  that  poor 
Monsieur  Schmucke  who  has  been  dead  tired  for  a 
month,  he  walks  on  his  ankles,  he  can't  go  nowhere, 
nor  give  lessons,  nor  do  his  work  at  the  theatre,  for 
you  see  nothing  at  all,  then  ?  He  takes  care  of  you 
nights,  and  I  take  care  of  you  days.  To-day,  if  I 
had  continued  to  pass  the  nights  here  as  I  tried  to  do 
at  first,  when  I  thought  that  you  had  nothing  serious, 
I  should  have  had  to  sleep  during  the  daytime !  And 
who,  then,  would  look  after  the  housekeeping  and 
after  the  food ?  What  would  you  have?  Sickness 
is  sickness! — that's  all  there  is  about  it" 

"It  is  impossible  that  Schmucke  could  ever  have 
had  such  a  thought — " 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  say  next  that  it  was  I 
who  made  this  all  up  under  my  bonnet?  And  do 
you  think  we're  made  of  iron?  But  if  Monsieur 
Schmucke  had  continued  his  work  of  going  to  give 


346  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

seven  or  eight  lessons  every  day  and  spending  his 
evenings  from  half-past  six  to  half-past  eleven  at 
the  theatre,  directing  the  orchestra,  he  would  be 
dead  in  ten  days  from  now. — Do  you  want  to  be 
the  death  of  that  worthy  man,  who  would  shed  his 
blood  for  you  ?  By  the  author  of  my  days !  No  one 
ever  saw  a  sick  man  as  you — What  have  you  done 
with  your  common-sense,  have  you  sent  it  all  to  the 
pawn-brokers?  Everybody  here  is  exterminated  for 
you — everything  is  done  for  the  best,  and  you  ain't 
satisfied — Do  you  want,  then,  to  drive  us  crazy 
enough  to  be  confined? — I,  for  my  part,  I'm  done  for 
whatever  the  rest  may  be!" 

The  Cibot  might  talk  as  she  pleased,  anger  pre- 
vented Pons  from  saying  a  word.  He  rolled  about 
in  his  bed,  articulating  painfully  and  with  faint 
interjections,  he  seemed  almost  dead.  As  usual, 
when  it  arrived  at  this  point  the  quarrel  suddenly 
turned  to  affection.  The  nurse  darted  at  the  sick 
man,  took  his  head,  forced  him  to  lie  quiet  and  drew 
the  covers  over  him. 

"How  can  any  one  get  into  such  a  state!  My 
poor  pet !  it's  all  because  of  your  sickness !  That's 
what  the  good  Monsieur  Poulain  says.  See  now,  do 
be  quiet — be  nice,  my  good  little  man.  You're  the 
idol  of  everyone  who  comes  near  you,  even  the 
doctor  himself  comes  to  see  you  twice  a  day.  What 
will  he  say  if  he  finds  you  in  such  a  state?  You 
put  me  almost  beside  myself !  It  isn't  right  in  you. 
When  anyone  has  Mame  Cibot  for  nurse  they  should 
have  some  consideration  for  her — You  cry  out !  You 


COUSIN  PONS  347 

talk — that's  forbidden  you !  You  know  it ! — To  talk, 
that  irritates  you! — And  why  do  you  go  off  that 
way?  It  is  you  who  are  always  to  blame — and 
you're  always  nagging  me !  Come  now,  be  reason- 
able !  Monsieur  Schmucke  and  I,  who  love  you  as 
we  do  our  own  little  bowels,  we  did  what  we 
thought  best  Well,  my  cherub,  that's  all  right — 
see  now!" 

"Schmucke  didn't  tell  you  to  go  to  the  theatre 
without  consulting  me." 

"Must  I  wake  him  up,  that  poor  dear  man,  who  is 
sleeping  like  a  saint,  and  call  him  to  testify?" 

"No,  no,"  cried  Rons.  "If  my  good  and  tender 
Schmucke  took  this  resolution,  I  am  perhaps  sicker 
than  I  think  I  am,"  said  he,  casting  a  look  full  of 
awful  melancholy  on  the  objects  of  art  which  deco- 
rated his  chamber.  "I  will  have  to  say  farewell  to 
my  dear  pictures,  to  all  these  things  of  which  I  have 
made  my  friends ; — and  to  my  divine  Schmucke — oh ! 
can  that  be  true?" 

The  Cibot,  this  atrocious  actress,  put  her  hand- 
kerchief to  her  eyes.  This  mute  reply  made  the 
sick  man  fall  into  a  sombre  reverie.  Crushed  by 
these  two  blows  delivered  on  so  sensitive  parts,  his 
social  life  and  his  physical  health,  the  loss  of  his 
situation  and  the  prospect  of  death,  he  collapsed 
so  completely  that  he  no  longer  had  the  strength  to 
be  angry.  And  he  lay  there,  gloomy  as  a  consump- 
tive at  the  point  of  death. 

"Don't  you  see  in  the  interest  of  Monsieur 
Schmucke,"  said  the  Cibot,  perceiving  that  her 


348  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

victim  was  completely  broken  down,  "you  would 
do  well  to  send  for  the  notary  of  the  quarter,  Mon- 
sieur Trognon,  a  very  worthy  man." 

"You're  always  talking  to  me  of  this  Trognon," 
said  the  sick  man. 

"Oh,  it's  all  the  same  to  me,  one  or  another,  for 
all  that  you  will  give  me!" 

And  she  shook  her  head  in  token  of  her  contempt 
for  riches.  Silence  reigned  once  more. 


* 

At  this  moment  Schmucke,  who  had  been  asleep 
for  more  than  six  hours,  roused  by  hunger,  arose, 
came  into  Pons's  chamber,  and  stood  contemplating 
him,  during  several  moments,  without  saying  a 
word,  for  Madame  Cibot  had  put  her  finger  to  her 
lips  in  making  the  sign: 

"Sh!" 

Then  she  got  up,  went  close  to  the  German  in 
order  to  whisper  in  his  ear,  and  said  to  him : 

"Thank  God,  now  he's  going  to  sleep,  he's  as 
wicked  as  a  red  ass ! — What  do  you  think ! — he 
fights  against  the  sickness — " 

"No — I  am  on  the  contrary  very  patient,"  replied 
the  victim,  in  a  piteous  tone,  which  revealed  a 
frightful  weakness;  "but,  my  dear  Schmucke,  she 
has  been  to  the  theatre  to  have  me  dismissed." 

He  paused,  he  had  not  the  strength  to  say  more. 
The  Cibot  profited  by  this  interval  to  indicate  by 
a  sign  to  Schumcke  the  state  of  a  brain  from  which 
reason  has  flown,  and  said : 

"Don't  contradict  him,  he  will  die! — " 

"And,"  resumed  Pons,  looking  at  the  honest 
Schmucke,  "she  pretends  that  it  was  you  who  sent 
her—" 

"Yez,"  replied  Schmucke,  heroically,  "it  vaz 
nezezzary.  Toan'd  speak ! — led  uz  zave  your  laife ! 
— It  eez  nonzenze  to  vork  yourzelf  to  death,  ven 
(349) 


350  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

you  haf  a  dreasure — gate  veil,  ve  vill  zell  zum  pric- 
a-prac  and  end  our  days  in  beace  in  zome  gorner 
mit  dis  goot  Montame  Zipod. " 

"She  has  deluded    you,"  replied    Pons,    sadly. 

Not  now  seeing  Madame  Cibot,  who  had  estab- 
1  ished  herself  behind  the  bed  in  order  to  make  signs  to 
Schmucke,  which  Pons  could  not  see,  the  latter 
thought  she  had  left  the  room. 

"She  assassinates  me!"  he  added. 

"How?  I  assassinate  you? — "  she  cried, 
coming  forward  with  flaming  eyes,  her  hands  on 
her  hips.  "This  is,  then,  what  one  gets  for  the 
devotion  of  a  spaniel  ?  Dieu  de  Dieu!" 

She  burst  into  tears  and  let  herself  fall  in  an  arm- 
chair, and  this  tragic  action  caused  a  most  fatal 
revulsion  of  feeling  in  poor  Pons. 

"Well,"  she  said,  rising  and  looking  at  the  two 
friends  with  those  glances  of  a  malignant  woman, 
which  deliver  at  the  same  time  pistol  shots  and 
venom,  "I'm  sick  of  doing  nothing  here,  but  just 
wearing  myself  out,  body  and  soul.  You  must  get 
a  nurse!" 

The  two  friends  looked  at  each  other  in  terror. 

"Oh!  how  you  two  look  at  each  other  like  two 
actors!  I  have  said  it!  I'm  going  to  ask  Doctor 
Poulain  to  find  us  a  nurse!  And  we'll  square  up 
our  accounts.  You  will  return  me  all  the  money 
I  have  spent  here — and  which  I  would  never  have 
asked  of  you — I,  who  went  to  Monsieur  Pillerault  to 
borrow  from  him  five  hundred  francs  more — " 

"It  ees  because  hee's  zo  zick,"  cried    Schmucke, 


COUSIN  PONS  351 

precipitating  himself  upon  Madame  Cibot,  and 
seizing  her  by  the  waist,  "Do  haf  bayshenze!" 

"You,  you  are  an  angel,  and  I'd  kiss  your  foot- 
prints," said  she,"  but  Monsieur  Pons  never  liked 
me,  he  has  always  hated  me! — Besides,  he  may 
think  I  want  him  to  put  me  in  his  will!" 

"Hush!    You  vill  geel   heem,"  cried  Schmucke. 

"Adieu,  monsieur,"  said  she  to  Pons,  overwhelm- 
ing him  with  a  look.  "For  all  the  evil  that  I  wish 
you,  you  may  live  long.  When  you  will  be  more 
kind  to  me,  when  you'll  think  that  what  I  do 
is  well  done,  I  will  come  back!  Till  then,  I  shall 
stay  at  home — You  were  my  child,  and  since  when 
has  anybody  ever  seen  children  turning  against 
their  own  mothers? — No,  no,  Monsieur  Schmucke, 
I  won't  hear  nothing.  I'll  bring  you  your  dinner, 
I'll  wait  upon  you;  but  you  must  get  a  nurse.  Ask 
Doctor  Poulain  for  one." 

And  she  went  out,  slamming  the  doors  with  so 
much  violence  that  the  precious  and  fragile  objects 
trembled.  The  sick  man  heard  a  clinking  of  porce- 
lain, which  was,  in  his  torture,  like  the  coup  de 
grace  to  the  victim  broken  upon  the  wheel. 

An  hour  later  the  Cibot,  instead  of  entering 
Pons's  room,  came  to  call  Schmucke  through  the 
door  of  the  bed-chamber,  telling  him  that  his  dinner 
was  waiting  for  him  in  the  dining-room.  The  poor 
German  went  to  eat,  his  wan  face  covered  with 
tears. 

"Mine  boor  Bons  rafes,"  he  said,  "vor  he  bre- 
tends  that  you  are  a  vicket  voman.  Eet  ees  hees 


352  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

zickness, "  he  added,  to  soften  the  Cibot,  without 
accusing  Pons. 

"Oh,  I  have  had  enough  of  him  and  his  sickness ! 
Listen,  he  is  not  my  father,  nor  my  mother,  nor 
my  brother,  nor  my  child.  He  has  took  a  dislike 
to  me,  well,  that's  enough  of  it!  You,  do  you  see, 
I  would  follow  you  to  the  end  of  the  world ;  but 
when  one  gives  one's  life,  one's  heart,  all  one's  sav- 
ings, when  one  neglects  one's  husband — for  there's 
Cibot  ill  now — and  when  one  hears  herself  called 
a  wicked  woman — that's  a  little  stronger  than 
coffee,  that  is." — 

"Goffy?" 

"Yes,  coffee!  Let  us  leave  these  idle  words! 
Let  us  come  to  something  positive.  For  that  mat- 
ter, you  owe  me  for  three  months  at  one  hundred 
and  ninety  francs,  that  makes  five  hundred  and 
seventy  francs!  then  the  rent  which  I  have  paid 
twice — and  here's  the  receipts — six  hundred  francs, 
taking  off  a  sou  per  franc  and  your  taxes;  then 
twelve  hundred  less  a  trifle,  and  finally  the  two 
thousand  francs,  without  interest,  remember;  a  total 
of  three  thousand  one  hundred  and  ninety  two 
francs. — And  you  must  think  that  it  will  be  neces- 
sary for  you  to  have  at  least  two  thousand  francs  in 
hand  for  the  nurse,  the  doctor,  the  medicines,  and  to 
feed  the  nurse. — That's  why  I  borrowed  a  thousand 
francs  from  Monsieur  Pillerault,"  she  added,  show- 
ing him  the  thousand-franc  note  given  her  by 
Gaudissart 

Schmucke    listened    to    this    account    with    a 


COUSIN  PONS  353 

stupefaction  quite  conceivable,  for  he  was  a  finan- 
cier just  as  cats  are  musicians. 

"Montame  Zipod,  Bons  ees  oud  ov  hees  bed! 
Bardon  heem — gondinue  to  dake  gare  of  heem, 
remain  our  brofidence, — I  ask  eet  on  my  nees." 

And  the  German  knelt  down  before  the  Cibot  and 
kissed  the  hands  of  this  executioner. 

"Well,  listen,  my  good  dear,"  she  said,  raising 
him  up  and  kissing  him  on  the  forehead.  "There 
is  Cibot  sick,  he's  in  bed,  I've  just  sent  for  Doctor 
Poulain.  In  these  circumstances  I  must  get  my 
money  matters  in  shape.  Besides,  Cibot,  when 
he  saw  me  coming  down  in  tears,  fell  into  such  a 
fury  that  he  will  not  have  me  put  my  foot  in  here 
again.  It's  he  that  insists  on  getting  his  money 
back,  and  it's  his,  you  know.  We  women,  we  can't 
do  anything  in  a  case  like  this,  but  if  we  give  back 
his  money  to  that  man,  three  thousand  two  hun- 
dred francs,  perhaps  he'll  calm  down.  It's  all  he's 
got,  the  poor  man !  It's  his  savings  of  twenty-six 
years  of  management,  of  the  sweat  of  his  brow.  He 
wants  his  money  to-morrow  and  there  ain't  no 
squirming  out  of  it — You  don't  know  Cibot;  when 
he's  in  anger,  he  would  kill  a  man.  Well,  I  might 
perhaps  persuade  him  to  let  me  continue  to  take 
care  of  you  two.  You  be  easy,  I  shan't  mind  what 
he  takes  it  into  his  head  to  say  to  me.  I'll  bear 
that  martyrdom  for  your  sake,  for  you're  an  angel, 
you  are." 

"No,  I  am  only  a  boor  man  who  lofes  hees  frent, 
who  would  gif  hees  laife  to  zave  heem. — " 
23 


354  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"And  how  about  the  money?  My  good  Monsieur 
Schmucke,  here's  a  supposition,  should  you  give  me 
nothing,  it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  find  three 
thousand  francs  for  your  wants! — My  gracious! 
Do  you  know  what  I  would  do  in  your  place  ?  I 
should  do  neither  one  nor  the  other,  I  would  sell 
seven  or  eight  of  these  stupid  pictures  and  I 
would  replace  them  by  some  of  those  which  are 
in  your  chamber  with  their  faces  against  the  wall, 
because  there  ain't  no  place  to  hang  them !  for  one 
picture  is  as  good  as  another,  so  what  would  it 
matter?" 

"Butvy?" 

"He  is  so  irritable!  it's  his  sickness,  for  when 
he  is  well  he  is  a  lamb!  He's  capable  of  getting 
up  and  ferreting  round ;  and,  if  by  chance  he  gets 
into  the  salon,  though  he  is  so  weak  he  can  no 
longer  cross  the  threshold  of  his  door,  he  will  see 
the  right  number  still  there!" — 

"Dat's  drue,  dat's  drue!" 

But  we  will  tell  him  about  the  sale  when  he  gets 
well  again.  If  you  confess  the  sale  to  him  you 
can  throw  all  the  blame  on  me  because  of  the  nec- 
essity of  paying  me.  That's  all  right — I  have  a 
good  back — " 

"I  gannot  disbose  ov  dings  dat  do  not  pelong  to 
me,"  replied  the  German,  simply. 

"Well,  then  I  will  summon  you  before  the  court, 
you  and  Monsieur  Pons." 

"Dat  vould  gill  heem." 

"  Well,  choose ! — My  gracious !    Sell  the  pictures 


COUSIN  PONS  355 

and  tell  him  afterwards — you  can  show  him  the 
summons — " 

"Very  veil,  den  zummon  us — dat  vill  be  mine 
excuze — I  will  show  him  the  judshment — " 

The  same  day  at  seven  in  the  evening  Madame 
Cibot,  who  had  been  to  consult  the  bailiff,  called 
Schmucke.  The  German  found  himself  in  presence 
of  Monsieur  Tabareau,  who  summoned  him  to  make 
payment;  and  on  the  response  which  Schmucke 
made,  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  he  was  sum- 
moned— he  and  Rons  before  the  Court  to  be  adjudged 
to  make  payment  The  aspect  of  this  official,  the 
stamped  paper  with  its  legal  scrawl,  produced  such 
an  effect  on  Schmucke  that  he  resisted  no  longer. 

"Zell  de  bigchurs,"  he  said,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes. 


The  next  day  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  Elie 
Magus  and  Remonencq  unhooked  the  pictures  each 
one  had  selected.  Two  receipts  for  two  thousand 
five  hundred  francs  were  thus  made  out  in  perfectly 
due  form : 

"  I,  the  undersigned,  on  behalf  of  Monsieur  Rons,  acknowl- 
edge the  receipt  from  Monsieur  FJie  Magus  of  the  sum  of 
two  thousand  five  hundred  francs  for  four  pictures  which  1 
have  sold  to  him,  the  said  sum  to  be  employed  for  the  per- 
sonal needs  of  Monsieur  Pons.  One  of  these  pictures  attrib- 
uted to  Du'rer  is  the  portrait  of  a  woman  ;  the  second,  of  the 
Italian  school,  is  also  a  portrait ;  the  third  is  a  Dutch  land- 
scape by  Breughel,  and  the  fourth,  a  Florentine  picture,  rep- 
resenting the  Holy  Family,  by  an  unknown  master." 

The  receipt  given  to  Remonencq  was  in  the 
same  terms,  and  included  a  Greuze,  a  Claude 
Lorrain,  a  Rubens  and  a  Van  Dyck  disguised  under 
the  name  of  paintings  of  the  French  and  Flemish 
schools. 

"Zo  much  money  makse  me  dink  dat  doze  vool- 
eries  are  wordh  someding,"  said  Schmucke,  in 
receiving  the  five  thousand  francs. 

"They  are  worth  something" — said  Remonencq. 

"I  would  willingly  give  one  hundred  thousand 
francs  for  the  whole  lot" 

The  Auvergnat,  on  being  asked  to  render  this 
little  service,  replaced  the  eight  pictures  by  others  of 

(357) 


358  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  same  dimensions  in  the  same  frames,  choosing 
them  from  among  inferior  paintings  which  Rons  had 
put  in  Schmucke's  chamber.  Elie  Magus,  once  in 
possession  of  his  four  master  pieces,  brought  the 
Cibot  to  his  house  under  pretence  of  regulating 
their  accounts.  But  once  there  he  complained  of 
poverty,  he  found  defects  in  the  canvases,  declared 
the  pictures  must  be  re-backed,  and  he  offered  the 
Cibot  thirty  thousand  francs  for  her  commission ; 
he  got  her  to  accept  them  in  showing  her  the  daz- 
zling bits  of  paper  on  which  the  Bank  of  France  en- 
graves the  words  Mille  Francs.  Magus  compelled 
Remonencq  to  give  a  similar  sum  to  the  Cibot  by 
lending  it  to  him  on  the  four  pictures,  which  he 
made  him  deposit  with  him.  The  four  paintings 
of  Remonencq  appeared  so  magnificent  to  Magus 
that  he  could  not  bring  his  mind  to  give  them  up, 
and  the  day  after  he  brought  a  premium  of  six 
thousand  francs  to  that  dealer,  who  made  over  the 
four  pictures  to  him  with  a  bill  of  sale.  Madame 
Cibot,  enriched  by  sixty-eight  thousand  francs, 
again  demanded  the  utmost  secrecy  from  her  accom- 
plices; she  begged  the  Jew  to  tell  her  how  to  invest 
this  sum  in  such  a  manner  that  no  one  should  know 
that  she  possessed  it 

"Buy  shares  in  the  Orleans  railway,  they  are 
thirty  francs  below  par,  you  will  double  your  in- 
vestment in  three  years,  and  you  will  get  scraps  of 
paper  which  you  can  keep  in  a  portfolio." 

"Please  wait  here,  Monsieur  Magus,  I  am  going 
to  see  the  business  agent  of  the  family  of  Monsienr 


COUSIN  PONS  359 

Rons,  he  wants  to  know  at  what  price  you  would 
take  the  whole  heap  of  things  up-stairs. — I'm  going 
to  fetch  him." 

"If  she  were  a  widow!"  said  Remonencq  to 
Magus,"  she  would  be  just  my  affair,  for  here  she  is 
rich—" 

"Especially  if  she  puts  her  money  in  the  Orleans 
railway,  in  two  years  she  will  double  it  I  have 
put  my  poor  little  savings  there,"  said  the  Jew, 
"they  are  to  be  my  daughter's  dot  Let  us  go  and 
take  a  little  turn  on  the  Boulevard,  while  we  are 
waiting  for  the  lawyer." 

"If  God  would  only  take  Cibot  to  himself — and 
he's  pretty  sick  already,"  resumed  Remonencq, 
"I  should  have  a  fine  wife  to  keep  a  store,  and  I 
could  undertake  a  wholesale  business — •' 

"Good-day,  my  good  Monsieur  Fraisier,'  said  the 
Cibot,  in  a  wheedling  tone,  entering  the  office  of  her 
counsellor.  "Well,  what  is  this  that  your  concierge 
tells  me— that  you  are  going  away  from  here? — " 

"Yes,  my  dear  Madame  Cibot;  I  have  taken  in 
the  house  of  Doctor  Poulain  an  apartment  on  the 
first  floor  just  above  his.  I  am  going  to  borrow 
two  or  three  thousand  francs  to  suitably  furnish 
this  apartment,  which,  on  my  word,  is  really  very 
pretty,  the  proprietor  has  done  it  up  all  like  new. 
I  am  employed,  as  I  told  you,  in  the  interest  of 
President  de  Marville,  as  well  as  in  yours — I  give 
up  the  business  of  a  mere  agent,  and  I  am  going  to 
have  myself  inscribed  on  the  list  of  advocates,  and 
it  is  necessary  to  live  in  a  good  house.  The 


360  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

advocates  of  Paris  allow  to  be  inscribed  on  their  list 
only  those  who  are  possessed  of  respectable  belong- 
ings, a  library,  etc.  I  am  a  doctor  of  law,  I  have 
passed  through  my  licentiate,  and  I  have  already  pow- 
erful protectors.  Well,  how  is  our  affair  going  on  ?" 

"If  you  will  accept  my  savings,  which  are  in  the 
savings-bank,"  said  the  Cibot  to  him,  "I  have  not 
much — three  thousand  francs,  the  fruit  of  twenty- 
five  years  pinching  and  privation. — You  can  give 
me  a  bill  of  exchange  as  Remonencq  says,  for  I  am 
ignorant,  I  only  know  what  others  tell  me — " 

"No,  the  statutes  forbid  a  lawyer  to  draw  bills 
of  exchange;  I  will  give  you  a  receipt,  bearing  in- 
terest at  five  per  cent,  and  you  can  return  it  to  me  if 
I  get  you  mentioned  for  twelve  hundred  francs  of 
annuity  in  the  will  of  old  Pons." 

The  Cibot,  caught  in  a  net,  was  silent 

"Silence  gives  consent,"  said  Fraisier.  "Bring 
it  to  me  to-morrow." 

"I  will  pay  you,  very  willingly,  your  commission 
in  advance,"  said  the  Cibot  "That  will  be  making 
sure  that  I'll  have  my  income." 

"Where  are  we  now,"  resumed  Fraisier,  with 
an  affirmative  nod  of  his  head.  "I  saw  Poulain 
yesterday  evening,  it  seems  that  you  are  leading 
your  sick  man  a  fine  dance. — Another  such  attack 
as  that  of  yesterday,  and  there  will  be  stones  form- 
ing in  his  gall-bladder. — Be  gentle  with  him,  do  you 
see,  my  dear  Madame  Cibot,  it  isn't  necessary  to 
lay  up  remorse  for  one's  self,  or  you  won't  make 
old  bones." 


COUSIN   PONS  361 

"Let  me  alone  with  your  remorse ! — Are  you  going 
to  talk  to  me  some  more  of  the  guillotine?  Mon- 
sieur Pons  is  an  old  obstinate — you  don't  know  him ! 
it  is  he  that  makes  me  mad !  There  ain't  no  worse 
man  nor  him !  His  relations  were  quite  right,  he 
is  sullen,  vindictive,  obstinate. — Monsieur  Magus 
is  at  the  house,  as  I  told  you,  and  he's  waiting  for 
you." 

"Good!  I  will  be  there  as  soon  as  you.  It  is  on 
the  value  of  this  collection  that  depends  the  figure 
of  your  income;  if  there  are  eight  hundred  thous- 
and francs,  you  will  have  fifteen  hundred  francs  a 
year — that's  a  fortune !" 

"Well,  I  will  tell  them  to  value  the  things  con- 
scientiously." 

An  hour  later,  while  Pons  was  sleeping  heavily, 
after  having  taken  from  Schmucke's  hands  an  ano- 
dyne ordered  by  the  doctor,  but  of  which  the  dose, 
unknown  to  the  German,  had  been  doubled  by  the 
Cibot,  Fraisier,  Remonencq  and  Magus,  these  three 
gallows-birds,  examined  piece  by  piece  the  seven- 
teen hundred  objects  which  composed  the  collection 
of  the  old  musician.  Schmucke  being  in  bed,  these 
ravens,  scenting  the  carcass,  were  masters  of  the 
situation. 

"Don't  make  no  noise,"  said  the  Cibot,  every 
time  that  Magus  went  into  an  ecstacy  in  discussing 
with  Remonencq  some  beautiful  piece  of  work,  of 
whose  value  he  instructed  him. 

It  was  a  heart-breaking  spectacle,  that  of  these  four 
different  embodied  greeds  weighing  and  estimating 


362  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  value  of  this  inheritance  during  the  slumber  of 
him  whose  death  was  the  object  of  their  covetous- 
ness.  The  estimation  of  the  value  contained  in 
the  salon  took  three  hours. 

"On  an  average,  "  said  the  dirty  old  Jew,  "each 
object  here  is  worth  a  thousand  francs." 

"That  would  be  seventeen  hundred  thousand 
francs,"  exclaimed  Fraisier,  thunderstruck. 

"Not  for  me,"  replied  Magus,  whose  eyes  resumed 
their  cold  tints.  "I  would  not  give  more  than  eight 
hundred  thousand  francs;  for  no  one  knows  how 
long  such  property  may  remain  on  your  hands, — 
there  are  masterpieces  that  can't  find  a  sale  before 
ten  years,  and  the  original  cost  is  doubled  at  com- 
pound interest;  but  I  would  be  willing  to  pay  cash." 

"There  are  in  the  bed-chamber  glasses,  enamels, 
miniatures,  snuff  boxes  in  gold  and  in  silver," 
remarked  Remonencq. 

"Can  we  examine  them?"  asked  Fraisier. 

"I  will  go  and  see  if  he's  sound  asleep,"  an- 
swered the  Cibot 

And  on  a  sign  from  the  concierge,  the  three  birds 
of  prey  entered. 

"There  are  the  masterpieces,"  said  Magus,  in- 
dicating the  salon,  every  hair  of  his  white  beard 
quivering,  "but  here  are  the  riches!  And  what 
riches!  The  sovereigns  have  nothing  finer  in 
their  treasuries." 


* 

Remonencq's  eyes  kindling  at  the  snuff  boxes, 
glowed  like  carbuncles.  Fraisier,  cold  and  quiet  as 
a  serpent  coiling  for  its  spring,  stretched  out  his 
flat  head,  and  stood  in  the  attitude  which  painters 
give  to  Mephistopheles.  These  three  embodied 
greeds,  thirsting  for  gold  as  devils  thirst  for  the 
dews  of  Paradise,  cast,  each  of  them  without  con- 
cert, a  glance  at  the  possessor  of  this  wealth,  for 
he  had  made  one  of  those  movements  apparently 
inspired  by  a  nightmare.  Suddenly,  under  the 
influence  of  these  diabolical  glances,  the  sick  man 
opened  his  eyes  and  uttered  piercing  cries — . 

"Thieves!  robbers!  help,  they  will  murder 
me!" 

Evidently  he  continued  his  dreaming,  though  wide 
awake,  for  he  sat  up  in  bed,  his  eyes  staring,  white 
and  fixed,  and  without  being  able  to  move. 

fili  Magus  and  Remonencq  gained  the  door,  but 
they  were  rooted  there  by  these  words : 

"Magus,  here! — I  am  betrayed!" 

The  sick  man  was  awake  now,  roused  by  the 
instinct  of  preservation  of  his  treasures,  a  feeling 
fully  equal  to  that  of  personal  preservation. 

"Madame  Cibot,  who  is  that  man?"  cried  he, 
shuddering  at  the  sight  of  Fraisier,  who  stood  mo- 
tionless. 

"My  gracious! — could  I  turn  him  out,"  said  she, 
(363) 


364  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

winking  to  Fraisier.  "Monsieur  has  just  come 
with  a  message  from  your  relations — " 

Fraisier  made  an  involuntary  movement  of  ad- 
miration for  the  Cibot 

"Yes,  Monsieur,  I  have  come  from  Madame  la 
Presidente  de  Marville,  from  her  husband  and  her 
daughter,  to  express  to  you  their  regrets ;  they  have 
learned  accidentally  of  your  illness,  and  they  would 
wish  to  nurse  you  themselves. — They  propose  to 
you  to  go  to  their  country-seat  at  Marville  to  recover 
your  health;  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  Popinot,  the 
little  Cecile,  who  loves  you  so  much,  will  be  your 
sick  nurse, — she  has  taken  up  your  defense  against 
her  mother,  and  she  has  made  her  see  that  she  was 
mistaken." 

"And  they  sent  you  here,  my  heirs!"  cried  Pons 
indignantly,  "giving  you  for  guide  the  cleverest 
connoisseur  and  the  keenest  expert  in  all  Paris? — 
Ha !  The  errand  is  a  good  one,"  he  went  on,  laugh- 
ing like  a  madman.  "You  have  come  to  value  my 
pictures,  my  curiosities,  my  snuff-boxes,  my  minia- 
tures!— Value  them!  You  have  with  you  a  man, 
who  not  only  knows  everything  in  these  matters, 
but  who  could  buy  them  all,  for  he  is  ten  times  a 
millionaire. — My  dear  relations  will  not  have  to 
wait  long  for  my  property,"  he  added  with  pro- 
found irony.  "They  have  dealt  me  my  finishing 
stroke. — Ah!  Madame  Cibot,  you  called  yourself 
my  mother,  and  you  have  brought  here  the  mer- 
chants, my  rival,  and  the  Camusots  while  I  was 
asleep! — Get  out  of  here,  all  of  you!" — 


COUSIN  PONS  365 

And  the  unhappy  man,  beside  himself  through  the 
double  effect  of  anger  and  fear,  leaped  out  of  bed 
like  a  fleshless  spectre. 

"Take  my  arm,  Monsieur,"  said  the  Cibot,  rush- 
ing to  him  to  keep  him  from  falling.  "Calm  your- 
self, the  gentlemen  have  gone." 

"I  wish  to  see  the  salon !"  said  the  dying  man. — 

Madame  Cibot  made  a  sign  to  the  three  ravens  to 
fly  away;  then  she  seized  Pons,  lifted  him  like  a 
feather,  and  put  him  back  into  his  bed,  in  spite  of 
his  cries.  Seeing  that  the  unfortunate  collector  was 
utterly  exhausted,  she  went  to  close  the  door  of  the 
apartment  The  three  assassins  of  Pons  were  still 
on  the  landing,  and  when  the  Cibot  saw  them,  she 
told  them  to  wait,  overhearing  this  speech  of  Frai- 
sier  to  Magus : 

"Write  me  a  letter  signed  by  you  both,  in  which 
you  pledge  yourselves  to  pay  nine  hundred  thousand 
francs  cash  for  the  collection  of  Monsieur  Pons,  and 
we  will  see  that  you  get  a  good  premium." 

Then  he  whispered  in  Madame  Cibot's  ear  a 
word,  a  single  word,  which  no  man  could  hear,  and 
went  downstairs  with  the  two  merchants  to  the  por- 
ter's lodge. 

"Madame  Cibot,"  said  the  unhappy  Pons,  when 
the  concierge  had  returned  to  him,  "have  they 
gone?" 

"'Who, — gone ?"  she  demanded. 

"Those  men!" 

"What  men?  Come,  you  have  seen  some  men!" 
said  she.  You  have  just  had  a  fine  stroke  of  raging 


366  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

fever,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me,  you  would  have 
thrown  yourself  out  of  the  window,  and  you  were 
talking  to  me  about  men — Are  you  going  to  be  like 
that  all  the  time?" 

"How,  there,  just  now,  was  there  not  a  man 
standing  there  who  said  he  was  sent  by  my  fam- 
ily?—" 

"Are  you  going  to  stand  me  out  about  it?"  she 
cried!  "My  gracious,  do  you  know  where  you 
ought  to  be  put?  At  '  Chalenton ! '— Talk  about 
seeing  men — " 

"fili  Magus;  Remonencq! — " 

"Oh!  as  for  Remonencq,  yes,  you  may  have  seen 
him,  for  he  came  up  just  now  to  tell  me  that  my 
poor  Cibot  is  so  sick  that  I  am  going  to  leave  you 
planted  here  to  get  your  wits  again.  My  Cibot  first 
of  all,  do  you  see!  When  my  man  is  ill,  I,  I  do  not 
know  anybody  else.  Now,  you  try  to  keep  quiet 
and  to  sleep  a  couple  of  hours,  for  I  have  sent  for 
Monsieur  Poulain,  and  I  will  come  back  with  him. 
— Take  your  drink,  and  be  good." 

"There  was  no  one,  then,  in  my  chamber  there, 
just  now  when  I  woke  up? — " 

"No  one,"  said  she.  "You  must  have  seen  Mon- 
sieur Remonencq  in  the  mirror." 

"You  are  right,  Madame  Cibot,"  said  the  sick 
man,  suddenly  becoming  as  docile  as  a  lamb. 

"Well,  there  now,  you  are  reasonable — .  Adieu, 
my  cherub,  keep  yourself  quiet,  and  I  will  soon 
be  back  to  you." 

When  Rons  heard  the  door  of  the  apartment  close, 


COUSIN  PONS  367 

he  collected  his  remaining  strength  to  get  out  of 
bed,  for  he  said  to  himself: 

"They  are  deceiving  me!  they  are  plundering 
me !  Schmucke  is  a  baby,  who  would  let  himself 
be  tied  up  in  a  sack. — " 

And  the  sick  man,  animated  by  the  desire  to  clear 
up  the  frightful  scene,  which  seemed  too  real  to 
have  been  a  vision,  had  strength  enough  to  gain  the 
door  of  his  chamber ;  he  opened  it  with  difficulty  and 
entered  his  salon,  where  the  sight  of  his  dear  pic- 
tures, of  his  statues,  of  his  Florentine  bronzes,  of 
his  porcelains,  revived  his  heart  The  old  collector 
in  his  dressing-gown,  his  legs  bare,  and  his  brain 
on  fire,  was  able  to  walk  through  the  two  lanes 
which  were  formed  by  the  credence-tables  and  the 
sideboards,  which  divided  the  room  longitudinally 
into  parts.  At  the  first  glance  of  the  connoisseur,  he 
counted  everything  and  saw  that  his  museum  was 
intact  He  was  about  to  return,  when  his  eye  was 
attracted  to  a  portrait  of  Greuze  put  in  the  place  of 
the  "  Chevalier  de  Malte,"  by  Sebastien  del  Piombo. 
Suspicion  tort,  its  way  through  his  mind,  as  a 
lightning-flash  stripes  a  stormy  sky.  He  looked 
at  the  places  of  his  eight  principal  paintings,  and 
found  them  all  replaced  by  others.  The  eyes  of  the 
poor  man  were  suddenly  covered  with  a  black  veil, 
he  was  taken  with  a  mortal  feebleness  and  fell  on 
the  floor.  This  swoon  was  so  complete  that  he  lay 
there  during  two  hours ;  he  was  found  by  Schmucke, 
when  the  German,  having  awakened,  came  out  of 
his  own  room  to  go  to  that  of  his  friend.  Schmucke, 


368  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

with  great  difficulty  lifted  the  dying  man  and  put 
him  back  in  his  bed;  but  when  he  spoke  to  this 
quasi-corpse  and  received  in  return  only  a  glazed 
look,  and  vague  and  stammering  words,  the  poor 
German,  instead  of  losing  his  head,  became  a  hero 
of  friendship.  Under  the  pressure  of  despair,  this 
child-man  had  one  of  those  inspirations,  such  as 
come  to  loving  women  and  to  mothers.  He  heated 
towels — he  actually  found  towels ! — he  knew  enough 
to  wrap  them  around  the  hands  of  Pons,  he  put 
them  upon  the  pit  of  his  stomach;  then  he  took  his 
forehead,  cold  and  damp,  between  his  hands,  and 
called  back  into  it  the  vital  spark  with  a  potency 
of  will  worthy  of  Apollonius  of  Tyana.  He  kissed 
his  friend  upon  the  eyelids  like  those  "Marys" 
whom  the  great  Italian  sculptors  have  carved  in 
their  bas-reliefs  called  "Pietas,"  kissing  the  Christ. 
These  divine  efforts,  this  transfusion  of  one  life 
into  another,  this  work  of  motherhood  and  of  love, 
were  crowned  with  complete  success.  At  the  end 
of  half  an  hour,  Pons,  warmed  to  life,  resumed  a 
human  aspect;  the  vital  color  came  back  to  his  eyes, 
the  external  heat  restored  the  action  of  the  internal 
organs.  Schmucke  made  him  drink  an  infusion 
of  balm  mixed  with  wine,  the  influence  of  the  wine 
diffused  itself  through  the  body,  intelligence  shone 
once  more  upon  the  brow,  lately  as  senseless  as  a 
stone.  Pons  understood  then  to  what  sacred  devo- 
tion, to  what  potent  friendship,  his  resurrection  was 
due. 

"Without  thee,  I   should   have  died,"  he  said, 


COUSIN  PONS  369 

feeling  his  face  softly  bathed  by  the  tears  of  the 
good  German,  who  laughed  and  wept  at  once. 

Hearing  these  words  so  long  waited  for,  in  the 
delirium  of  hope,  which  equals  that  of  despair, 
poor  Schmucke,  whose  strength  was  exhausted,  col- 
lapsed like  a  burst  balloon.  It  was  his  turn  to  give 
way,  he  let  himself  fall  into  an  armchair,  clasping 
his  hands  and  thanking  God  in  a  fervent  prayer. 
A  miracle  had  been  wrought  through  him!  He  had 
no  faith  in  the  power  of  his  prayer  put  into  action, 
but  in  that  of  God,  whom  he  had  invoked.  Never- 
theless, the  miracle  was  an  effect  of  natural  causes, 
as  has  often  been  verified  by  physicians. 

A  patient  surrounded  by  affection,  cared  for  by 
persons  anxious  to  save  his  life,  if  the  chances  are 
equal,  will  be  saved,  where  another  man,  in  charge 
of  hired  nurses,  will  succumb.  The  doctors  do  not 
care  to  see  in  this  the  effects  of  involuntary  magnet- 
ism, they  attribute  this  result  to  intelligent  care,  to 
an  exact  observance  of  their  orders ;  but  very  many 
mothers  know  the  virtue  of  these  passionate  projec- 
tions of  a  steady  desire. 


"My  good  Schmucke — !" 

"Toan'd  sbeak,  I  unterzdantz  py  mein  heard — 
resd!  resd;"  said  the  musician  smiling! — 

'•'Poor  friend,  noble  creature!  child  of  God,  living 
in  God's  presence!  only  being  who  ever  loved  me!" 
— said  Rons  by  interjections,  discovering  in  his 
voice  unknown  modulations. 

The  soul  about  to  take  its  flight  breathed  through 
these  words,  which  gave  to  Schmucke  ecstasies, 
almost  equal  to  those  of  love. 

"Lif!  lif!  and  I  vill  begome  a  lion;  I  vill  vork 
for  too!" 

"Listen,  my  good  and  faithful  and  precious  friend ! 
Let  me  speak,  time  is  short,  for  I  am  dead,  I 
cannot  recover  from  these  repeated  shocks." 

Schmucke  cried  like  a  child. 

"Listen  now,  you  may  weep  afterwards," — said 
Pons.  "Christian,  you  must  submit  I  have  been 
robbed,  and  it  is  the  Cibot — Before  I  leave  you, 
I  must  tell  you  certain  things  about  life,  for  you 
know  nothing  of  them. — They  have  taken  eight 
pictures,  which  are  worth  very  considerable  sums." 

"Forgif  me,  I  haf  zold  dem — " 

"You!" 

"I,"  said  the  poor  German.  "Ve  vere  zummoned 
bevor  der  Gourd." 

"Summoned!    By  whom?" 
(37i) 


372  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Vaitaminit."— 

Schmucke  went  to  fetch  the  stamped  paper  left 
by  the  bailiff,  and  brought  it  back. 

Rons  read  the  mysterious  document  attentively. 
Then  he  let  the  paper  fall  and  kept  silent  This 
student  of  human  labor,  who  had  up  to  the  present 
time  ignored  the  moral  aspects  of  life,  ended  by 
understanding  all  the  intricacies  of  the  plot  hatched 
bytheCibot  His  intuition  as  an  artist,  his  intelli- 
gence as  a  pupil  of  the  Academy  of  Rome,  all  his 
youth,  flashed  back  upon  him  for  a  few  moments. 

"My  good  Schmucke,  obey  me  like  a  soldier. 
Listen !  Go  down  to  the  porter's  lodge  and  say 
to  that  horrible  woman  that  I  wish  to  see  again  the 
person  who  was  sent  here  by  my  cousin,  the  presi- 
dent, and  that  if  he  does  not  come,  I  intend  to  be- 
queath my  collections  to  the  Musee ;  that  I  am  going 
to  make  my  will." 

Schmucke  went  on  the  errand ;  but  at  the  first 
word  the  Cibot  replied  by  a  smile: 

"Our  dear  sick  man  has  had,  my  good  Monsieur 
Schmucke,  an  attack  of  raging  fever  and  he  thought 
he  saw  people  in  his  room.  I  give  you  my  word, 
as  an  honest  woman,  that  no  one  came  from  the 
family  of  our  dear  sick  man." 

Schmucke  returned  with  this  answer,  which  he 
repeated  verbatim  to  Pons. 

"She  is  more  daring,  more  cunning,  more  astute, 
more  Machiavelian,  than  I  thought  for,"  said  Pons, 
smiling,  "She  lies,  even  in  her  lodge!  What  do  you 
think,  she  brought  here  this  morning  a  Jew  named 


COUSIN  PONS  373 

Elie  Magus,  Remonencq,  and  a  third  man  who  is 
unknown  to  me,  but  who  is  more  frightful  himself 
alone,  than  both  the  others.  She  counted  on  my 
being  asleep  to  let  them  appraise  the  value  of  my 
property,  but  it  so  happened  that  I  awoke  and  I  saw 
all  three  of  them  weighing  my  snuff-boxes  in  their 
very  hands.  Then  the  unknown  man  said  that  he 
was  sent  here  by  the  Camusots,  I  talked  with  him. — 
That  infamous  Cibot  maintained  to  me  that  I  was 
dreaming. — My  good  Schmucke,  I  was  not  dream- 
ing!— I  heard  the  man  plainly,  he  spoke  to  me. — 
The  two  dealers  were  frightened  and  took  to  the 
door." — I  felt  sure  that  the  Cibot  would  deny  it! — 
This  plan  is  useless.  I  will  set  another  trap  into 
which  the  infamous  creature  shall  fall. — My  poor 
friend,  you  take  the  Cibot  for  an  angel,  she  is  a  wo- 
man who,  for  the  last  month,  has  been  slowly  killing 
me  for  some  covetous  end.  I  could  not  believe  in 
so  much  wickedness  in  a  woman  who  has  served 
us  so  faithfully  for  many  years.  This  suspicion 
has  destroyed  me. — How  much  did  they  give  you 
for  those  eight  paintings?" 

"Vife  dousant  vrancz." 

"Good  God!  They  were  worth  twenty  times  as 
much!"  cried  Pons.  "They  were  the  flower  of 
my  collection.  I  have  no  time  now  to  bring  a  suit 
to  recover  them ;  besides,  it  would  only  be  expos- 
ing you  as  the  dupe  of  those  swindlers. — A  law-suit 
would  be  the  death  of  you!  You  do  not  know 
what  the  law  is !  It  is  the  sewer  of  all  moral  in- 
famies.— At  the  mere  sight  of  such  horrors,  souls 


374  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

like  yours  succumb.  And  besides,  you  will  be 
rich  enough.  Those  pictures  cost  me  forty  thous- 
and francs,  I  have  had  them  for  thirty-six  years. — 
But  we  have  been  robbed  with  surprising  clever- 
ness. I  am  on  the  edge  of  the  grave,  I  no  longer  care 
for  anything  but  you, — for  you,  the  best  of  human 
beings.  Now,  I  will  not  have  you  stripped  of  every- 
thing, for  all  that  I  possess  is  yours.  Therefore, 
you  must  learn  to  distrust  all  the  world,  and  you 
have  never  known  what  distrust  means.  God 
protects  you,  I  know  it ;  but  he  may  forget  you  for 
a  moment*  and  then  you  will  be  pillaged,  like  a  mer- 
chant vessel  by  buccaneers.  The  Cibot  is  a  monster, 
she  is  killing  me!  and  you  see  in  her  an  angel;  I 
am  going  to  show  you  what  she  is ;  go  and  ask  her 
to  tell  you  of  a  notary  who  can  make  my  will, — and 
I  will  show  her  to  you  with  her  hands  in  our  purse." 
Schmucke  listened  to  Rons  as  if  he  were  reciting  the 
Apocalypse  to  him.  If  there  really  existed  a  nature 
so  vile  as  that  of  the  Cibot  must  be,  if  Pons  were 
right,  then  it  was  for  him  the  negation  of  Providence. 

"My  boor  frient  Bons  eez  zo  zeeck,"  he  said, 
again  descending  to  the  lodge  and  addressing  Mad- 
ame Cibot,  "dat  he  vantz  to  mage  hees  vill ;  go  and 
ged  a  nodary — " 

This  was  said  in  presence  of  several  persons,  for 
the  illness  of  Cibot  had  by  this  time  become  desper- 
ate. Remonencq,  his  sister,  two  concierges  from 
neighboring  houses,  three  domestics  of  other  tenants, 
and  the  lodger  on  the  first  floor  fronting  the  street, 
were  all  standing  under  the  porte-cochere. 


COUSIN  PONS  375 

"Ah!  you  may  just  go  and  find  the  notary  your- 
self," said  the  Cibot,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "and 
have  your  will  made  by  whom  you  please. —  It  is 
not  when  my  poor  Cibot  is  dying  that  I  will  leave 
his  bedside — I  would  give  all  the  Ponses  in  the  world 
to  save  Cibot, — a  man  who  has  never  given  me  two 
ounces  of  grief  during  the  thirty  years  I  have  lived 
with  him!—" 

And  she  re-entered  her  room,  leaving  Schmucke 
bewildered. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  tenant  on  the  first  floor, 
"Monsieur  Pons  is  then  very  ill  ?" 

This  tenant,  named  Jolivard,  was  an  employe  of 
the  Register  Bureau  at  the  Palais  de  Justice. 

"He  haz  zhust  nearly  tied!"  replied  Schmucke, 
with  profound  sorrow. 

"There  is  near  here,  in  the  Rue  Saint-Louis, 
Monsieur  Trognon,  a  notary,"  observed  Jolivard. 
"He  is  the  notary  for  this  quarter." 

"Should  you  like  me  to  go  and  fetch  him  ?"  said 
Remonencq  to  Schmucke. 

"Eef  you  bleaze,"  answered  Schmucke.  "For 
eef  Montame  Zipod  gannot  nurse  mein  boor  vrient  I 
gannot  leafe  heem  in  de  sdade  he  eez  in." 

"Madame  Cibot  told  us  that  he  was  going 
crazy! — "  resumed  Jolivard 

"Bons,  grazy!"  replied  Schmucke, terror-stricken. 
"Nefer  has  hee  hat  hees  mint  zo  gut — ant  dat  eez 
zhust  vat  mage  me  zo  uneasy." 

All  the  persons  grouped  about  the  speaker,  list- 
ened to  this  conversation  with  a  very  natural 


3/6  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

curiosity,  which  helped  to  imprint  it  on  their 
memories.  Schmucke,  who  did  not  know  Fraisier, 
had  not  observed  that  satanic  head  with  its  keen 
eyes.  Fraisier,  by  throwing  two  words  into  the  Ci- 
bot's  ears,  had  been  the  originator  of  this  bold 
scene,  which,  perhaps,  would  have  been  beyond  the 
woman's  own  powers,  but  which  she  now  played 
with  surprising  ability.  To  have  it  believed  that 
the  dying  man  was  out  of  his  mind,  was  one  of 
the  corner-stones  of  the  edifice  which  the  man  of 
law  was  engaged  in  erecting.  The  incident  of  the 
morning  had  served  him  well,  and  without  him, 
perhaps,  the  Cibot,  in  her  trouble,  might  have  lost 
her  head  at  the  moment  when  the  innocent  Schmucke 
had  come  to  spread  a  net  for  her  in  requesting 
her  to  recall  the  emissary  of  the  Camusot  family. 
Remonencq,  who  saw  at  this  moment  Doctor  Pou- 
lain  approaching,  asked  nothing  better  than  to  get 
away.  And  for  this  reason :  For  the  last  ten  days 
Remonencq  had  been  play  ing  the  role  of  Providence, 
— a  course  singularly  displeasing  to  Justice,  who 
lays  claim  to  representing  it  in  herself  alone. 
Remonencq  was  resolved  to  get  rid,  at  any  price,  of 
the  one  obstacle  which  stood  in  the  way  of  his  hap- 
piness. For  him  happiness  consisted  in  marrying 
the  appetizing  concierge  and  tripling  his  capi- 
tal. So,  observing  the  little  tailor  as  he  drank 
his  herb-tea,  he  conceived  the  idea  of  converting 
his  indisposition  into  a  mortal  malady,  and  his 
business  of  old-iron  dealer  furnished  him  with  the 
means. 


COUSIN  PONS  377 

One  morning  as  he  smoked  his  pipe,  leaning 
against  the  post  of  his  shop-door,  and  while  he  was 
dreaming  of  that  fine  shop  on  the  Boulevard  de  la 
Madeleine,  in  which  should  be  throned  Madame 
Cibot,  gorgeously  dressed,  his  eye  fell  upon  a  little 
copper  disk,  much  oxidized.  The  idea  of  cleaning 
economically,  his  disk  in  Cibot's  tisane  suddenly 
came  to  him.  He  attached  this  copper,  round  as  a 
five-franc  piece,  to  a  little  thread;  and  while  the 
Cibot  was  busy  with  "her  gentleman,"  he  went 
daily  to  inquire  of  the  health  of  his  friend,  the 
tailor.  During  this  visit  of  some  minutes  he  put 
his  disk  to  soak  in  the  tea;  and  when  he  went 
away  he  pulled  it  out  by  the  bit  of  string.  This 
slight  addition  of  copper  charged  with  its  oxide, com- 
monly called  verdigris,  introduced  secretly  a  dele- 
terious element  into  the  beneficial  tisane,  though  in 
homcepathic  proportions,  which  caused  insidious 
ravages  in  the  patient's  system.  These  were  the 
results  of  this  criminal  homoepathy.  On  the  third 
day,  poor  Cibot's  hair  began  to  fall  out,  his  teeth 
trembled  in  their  sockets,  and  all  the  economy  of 
his  organization  was  disturbed  by  this  imperceptible 
dose  of  poison.  Doctor  Poulain  racked  his  brains 
on  perceiving  the  effects  of  this  decoction,  for  he 
knew  enough  to  recognize  the  presence  of  some 
destructive  agent  He  carried  away  the  tisane, 
unknown  to  everyone,  and  analyzed  it  himself; 
but  he  found  nothing.  It  so  chanced  that  on  that  day 
Remonencq,  frightened  at  his  own  work,  had  omit- 
ted to  use  the  fatal  disk.  Doctor  Poulain  squared 


378  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  matter  with  his  own  mind  and  with  the 
demands  of  science  by  supposing  that,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  sedentary  life  in  a  damp  lodge,  the 
blood  of  this  tailor,  forever  seated  cross-legged  on 
the  table  before  his  barred  window,  had  become 
vitiated  and  decomposed  from  want  of  exercise,  and 
above  all,  from  the  perpetual  breathing  of  the  exha- 
lations of  the  fetid  street  gutter.  The  Rue  de  Nor- 
mandie  is  one  of  those  old  streets  with  a  hollowed 
roadway,  with  a  gutter  down  the  middle,  which  the 
city  of  Paris  has  not  yet  supplied  with  fountains 
to  wash  out  the  gutters,  and  in  which  the  black 
stream  of  household  slops  rolls  slowly  over  the  pav- 
ing stones,  filtering  through  them  and  producing 
that  sort  of  mud  which  is  peculiar  to  the  streets  of 
Paris. 

Madame  Cibot,  herself,  went  and  came,  while  her 
husband,  an  indefatigable  worker,  was  always 
seated  cross-legged  before  this  window  like  a  fakir. 
The  knees  of  the  tailor  became  ankylosed,  the  blood 
settled  in  his  chest,  his  legs,  shrunken  and  distorted, 
became  almost  useless  members.  So  that  the  copper- 
colored  skin  of  the  little  man  seemed  to  show  that 
he  had  been  naturally  sick  for  a  long  time.  The 
good  health  of  the  wife  and  the  sickness  of  the  hus- 
band, seemed  to  the  doctor  quite  natural. 

"What  is  really  the  sickness  of  my  poor  Cibot?" 
the  concierge  had  demanded  of  Doctor  Poulain. 

"My  dear  Madame  Cibot,  he  is  dying  of  the 
disease  of  door-keepers. — His  general  debility  shows 
an  incurable  vitiation  of  the  blood." 


A  crime  apparently  without  object,  for  no  gain, 
to  serve  no  apparent  interest, ended  by  lulling  Doctor 
Poulain's  first  suspicions.  Who  could  want  to  kill 
Cibot?  his  wife?  The  doctor  saw  her,  tasting  the 
tisane  of  her  husband,  as  she  sweetened  it.  A  very 
considerable  number  of  crimes  escape  the  vengeance 
of  society ;  they  are  in  general  those  which  are 
committed,as  in  this  instance,  without  any  startling 
signs  of  violence  whatever,  such  as  blood  stains, 
strangulation,  bruises,  or  in  fact  any  clumsy  blun- 
ders ;  but  above  all,  when  the  murder  is  without  any 
apparent  cause  and  is  committed  among  the  lower 
classes.  Crime  is  nearly  always  betrayed  by 
its  antecedents,  by  hatred,  by  some  obvious  cupidi- 
ty known  to  the  persons  who  surround  it  But  in 
the  case  of  the  little  tailor,  Remonencq  and  Madame 
Cibot,  no  one  had  the  least  interest  to  seek  out  the 
cause  of  death,  excepting  the  doctor.  This  sickly, 
coppered-colored  concierge,  adored  by  his  wife,  was 
without  fortune  and  without  enemies.  The  motives 
and  the  passions  of  Remonencq  were  as  safely  hid- 
den from  sight  as  the  ill-gotten  gains  of  Madame 
Cibot  The  doctor  knew  the  woman  thoroughly 
and  all  her  feelings,  he  believed  her  capable  of 
tormenting  Pons;  but  he  knew  her  to  be  without 
the  motive  or  the  strength  to  commit  a  crime ;  more- 
over, he  saw  her  taking  a  spoonful  of  the  tisane 
(379) 


380  THE   POOR  RELATIONS 

whenever  the  doctor  came  and  she  gave  it  to  her 
husband  to  drink.  Poulain,  the  only  person  able 
to  arrive  at  the  truth,  believed  there  must  be  some 
accidental  cause,  one  of  those  surprising  exceptions 
which  render  the  practice  of  medicine  so  uncertain. 
And  in  truth  the  little  tailor,  unfortunately,  in  con- 
sequence of  his  stunted  existence,  was  in  such  a 
condition  of  ill-health  that  this  imperceptible  addi- 
tion of  verdigris  was  sufficient  to  give  him  his 
death.  The  gossips,  the  neighbors,  took  a  tone 
which  completely  screened  Remonencq  and  gave 
sufficient  reason  for  this  sudden  death. 

"Ah!"  said  one,  "it  is  a  long  time  that  I  have 
been  saying  that  Monsieur  Cibot  wasn't  well." 

"He  worked  too  hard,  that  man,"  said  another. 
"He  has  dried  up  his  blood." 

"He  wouldn't  listen  to  me,"  cried  a  neighbor,  "I 
proposed  to  him  to  go  out  for  a  walk  Sundays,  to 
take  a  day  off  occasionally,  for  it  is  not  too  much, 
to  have  two  days  in  a  week  for  holidays." 

In  short,  the  gossip  of  the  quarter,  usually  so 
prompt  to  accuse,  and  to  which  Justice  listens 
through  the  ears  of  a  commissary  of  police,  that 
ruler  of  the  lower  classes,  explained  perfectly  the 
death  of  the  little  tailor.  Nevertheless,  the  thought- 
ful air,  the  uneasy  eyes,  of  Doctor  Poulain,  made 
Remonencq  very  uncomfortable,  so,  seeing  him 
approach,  he  proposed  to  Schmucke  with  much 
eagerness,  to  go  in  search  of  Monsieur  Trognon, 
who  was  known  to  Fraisier. 

"I  will  be  back  by  the  time  the  will  is  made," 


COUSIN  PONS  381 

whispered  Fraisier  to  the  Cibot,  "and,  in  spite  of 
your  grief,  you  must  look  after  the  main  chance, 
you  know." 

The  little  lawyer,  who  disappeared  with  the  light- 
ness of  a  shadow,  met  his  friend  the  doctor. 

"Eh!  Poulain,"  he  cried,  "it  is  all  right  We 
are  saved!— I  will  tell  you  about  it  this  evening! — 
Decide  what  post  will  suit  you  and  you  shall  have 
it!  And  I,  I  am  juge-de-paix !  Tabareau  will  refuse 
me  his  daughter  no  longer. — As  to  you,  I  take  upon 
myself  to  have  you  marry  Mademoiselle  Vitel,  the 
grand-daughter  of  our  juge-de-paix." 

Fraisier  left  Poulain  a  prey  to  the  stupefaction 
which  these  extravagant  words  caused  him,  and 
leaped  out  on  the  Boulevard  like  a  ball ;  he  hailed  a 
passing  omnibus  and  was  in  ten  minutes  deposited 
by  this  modern  coach  at  the  head  of  the  Rue  de 
Choiseul.  It  was  about  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, Fraisier  was  sure  of  finding  Madame  de  Mar- 
ville  alone  for  the  judges  scarcely  ever  left  the  Pal- 
ais before  five. 

Madame  de  Marville  received  Fraisier  with  marks 
of  distinction  which  showed  that,  according  to  his 
promise,  made  to  Madame  Vatinelle,  Monsieur  Le- 
boeuf  had  spoken  favorably  of  the  former  advocate 
of  Mantes.  Amelie  was  almost  as  caressing  to  him 
as  the  Duchess  de  Montpensier  must  have  been  with 
Jacques  Clement;  for  the  little  lawyer  was  her 
knife.  But  when  Fraisier  presented  the  joint  letter 
signed  by  Elie  Magus  and  Remonencq,  in  which  they 
pledged  themselves  to  take  en  bloc  the  collection  of 


382  THE   POOR  RELATIONS 

Rons  for  a  sum  of  nine  hundred  thousand  francs 
cash,  the  president's  wife  turned  on  the  man  of  law  a 
glance  in  which  all  the  gold  of  that  sum  flashed. 
It  was  a  tide  of  covetousness  which  enveloped  the 
attorney. 

"  Monsieur  le  President,"  said  she,  "  has  re- 
quested me  to  invite  you  to  dine  with  us  to-morrow; 
it  will  be  a  family  party;  you  will  meet  Monsieur 
Godeschal,  the  successor  of  Maitre  Desroches,  my 
attorney;  also  Berthier,  our  notary;  my  son-in-law 
and  my  daughter. — After  the  dinner,  we  will  have, 
you  and  I,  the  notary  and  the  attorney,  that  little 
conference  for  which  you  asked,  and  I  will  then  give 
you  full  powers  to  act  These  two  gentlemen  will 
obey  your  directions,  as  you  request,  and  they  will 
see  that  all  that  is  done  properly.  You  shall  have 
a  power  of  attorney  from  Monsieur  de  Marville 
whenever  necessary — ." 

"1  shall  have  to  have  it  by  the  day  of  the 
death—" 

"It  shall  be  held  ready." 

"Madame  la  Presidente,  if  I  ask  for  a  power  of 
attorney,  and  if  I  desire  that  your  own  lawyer  shall 
not  appear  in  this  case,  it  is  much  less  in  my  inter- 
est than  in  yours — .  When  I  devote  myself,  I — I 
devote  myself  entirely !  Therefore  Madame,  I  ask 
in  return  the  same  fidelity,  the  same  confidence  from 
my  protectors — I  dare  not,  in  your  case,  say  clients. 
You  may  perhaps  think  that  in  acting  thus  I  wish 
to  fasten  myself  upon  this  affair;  no,  no  Madame; 
but  if  anything  reprehensible  were  to  happen, — for 


COUSIN  PONS  383 

in  a  matter  of  an  inheritance  one  is  sometimes  car- 
ried away — especially  by  a  weight  of  nine  hundred 
thousand  francs — ,  you  could  not  throw  the  blame 
on  a  man  like  Maitre  Godeschal,  who  is  known  to 
be  integrity  itself,  but  you  could  easily  put  it  on  the 
back  of  a  miserable  agent — " 

The  president's  wife  looked  at  Fraisier  with  admi- 
ration. 

"You  certainly  will  go  very  high  or  very  low," 
she  said  to  him.  "In  your  place,  instead  of  desir- 
ing to  retire  as  a  juge-de-paix,  I  should  seek  to  be 
procureur-du-roi  at  Mantes !  and  make  a  great  place 
for  myself." 

"Leave  me  to  act,  madame!  The  office  of 
juge-de-paix  is  a  curate's  nag  for  Monsieur  Vitel,  I 
will  make  of  it  a  war-horse." 

The  president's  wife  was  thus  led  into  making 
her  final  confidence  to  Fraisier. 

"You  seem  to  me  devoted  so  completely  to  our  in- 
terest, that  I  shall  confide  to  you  the  difficulties  of 
our  position,  and  also  our  hopes.  At  the  time  of  a 
projected  marriage  between  our  daughter  and  an 
adventurer,  who  has  since  become  a  banker,  the  pres- 
ident was  greatly  desirous  of  augmenting  the  Mar- 
ville  estate  by  the  purchase  of  some  meadow-lands, 
then  for  sale.  We  relinquished  that  magnificent  pro- 
perty when  my  daughter  was  married,  as  you  know; 
but  I  am  very  anxious,  my  daughter  being  an  only 
child,  to  acquire  the  remainder  of  these  pasture- 
lands.  These  beautiful  meadows  have  been  already 
sold  in  part;  they  belong  to  an  Englishman  who  is 


384  THE   POOR  RELATIONS 

about  to  return  to  England,  having  lived  there  for 
twenty  years.  He  has  built  the  most  charming 
cottage  in  a  beautiful  situation  between  the  park  of 
Marville  and  the  fields  which  formerly  belonged  to 
the  estate,  and  he  has  bought  up  to  make  a  park  of 
his  own,  game  preserves,  little  groves  and  gardens, 
at  fabulous  prices.  This  cottage  and  its  depen- 
dencies greatly  embellished  this  fine  piece  of  land- 
scape and  it  is  adjacent  to  my  daughter's  park 
walls. 

The  grass-lands  and  the  cottage  could  be  bought  for 
seven  hundred  thousand  francs,  the  net  returns  of  the 
meadows  are  about  twenty  thousand  francs — But  if 
M.Wadman  knew  that  it  was  we  who  were  seeking  to 
buy  the  property  he  would  no  doubt  ask  two  or  three 
hundred  thousand  francs  more,  for  he  really  loses 
that  much,  if,  as  is  usually  done  in  country  neigh- 
borhoods, they  value  only  the  land,  the  buildings 
going  for  nothing." 

"You  are,  madame,  I  think,  so  well  entitled 
to  regard  this  inheritance  as  already  your  own, 
that  I  offer  to  appear  in  the  role  of  the  purchaser 
on  your  behalf,  and  I  will  engage  to  get  you  the 
property  at  the  lowest  possible  price  under  private 
treaty,  as  is  usually  done  for  dealers  in  prop- 
erty— ."  I  will  present  myself  to  the  Englishman 
in -this  quality.  I  understand  such  affairs;  they 
were  my  specialty  at  Mantes.  Vatinelle  doubled 
the  value  of  his  practice,  for  I  worked  under  his 
name — ." 

"From  that  came  your  liaison  with  little  Madame 


COUSIN  PONS  385 

Vatinelle — That  notary  ought  to  be  very  rich  by 
this  time—?" 

"But  Madame  Vatinelle  is  so  extravagant — . 
Well  have  no  anxiety,  madame,  I  will  dish  up  your 
Englishman  done  to  a  turn." 

"If  you  succeed  in  this  attempt, you  have  right  to 
my  everlasting  gratitude.  Adieu,  my  dear  Monsieur 
Fraisier,  till  to-morrow — ." 

Fraisier  departed,  bowing  to  the  president's  wife 
with  less  servility  than  on  the  former  occasion. 

"I  dine  to-morrow,"  he  said  to  himself,  "with  the 
President  de  Marville.  Good  enough,  I  have  got 
those  people.  Only  to  be  absolute  master  of  the  whole 
affair,  I  must  be  the  counsel  of  that  German  in  the 
person  of  Tabareau,  the  bailiff  of  the  Justice  of  the 
Peace !  This  Tabareau,  who  refuses  me  his  daugh- 
ter, an  only  daughter,  will  give  her  to  me  if  I  am 
juge-de-paix.  Mademoiselle  Tabareau,  that  tall,  red- 
haired,  consumptive  girl,  owns  in  right  of  her  mother 
a  house  in  the  Place  Royale;  I  shall  then  be  eligible. 
At  the  death  of  her  father,  she  will  have  six  thous- 
and livres  of  income  more.  She  is  not  pretty,  but, 
good  Lord!  to  jump  from  zero  to  eighteen  thousand 
francs  a  year,  it  is  not  necessary  to  look  at  the  lad- 
der!—" 

And  in  returning  by  the  boulevard  to  the  Rue  de 
Normandie,  he  let  himself  float  along  upon  the  cur- 
rent of  these  golden  dreams;  he  allowed  himself  to 
imagine  the  happiness  of  being  forever  above  want; 
he  conceived  himself  marrying  Mademoiselle  Vitel, 
the  daughter  of  the  juge-de-paix,  to  his  friend 
25 


386  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Poulain.  He  saw  himself,  supported  by  the  doctor, 
one  of  the  kings  of  the  quarter,  he  would  rule  over 
the  elections,  municipal,  military  and  political.  The 
boulevards  seem  short  indeed  when,  as  we  walk 
along  them,  our  ambition  goes  along  also  upon  the 
wings  of  fancy. 


* 

When  Schmucke  reascended  to  his  friend  Pons,he 
told  him  that  Cibot  was  dying, and  that  Remonencq 
had  gone  for  Monsieur  Trognon,  the  notary.  Pons 
was  struck  by  this  name,  which  the  Cibot  had 
thrown  at  him  so  often  in  her  interminable  dis- 
courses, in  recommending  this  notary  as  probity  it- 
self. And  then  the  sick  man,  whose  distrust  had 
become  absolute  since  the  morning,  conceived 
a  luminous  idea,  which  completed  the  scheme  he  had 
formed  to  baffle  Madame  Cibot,  and  expose  her 
completely  to  the  credulous  Schmucke. 

"Schmucke,"  he  said, taking  the  hand  of  the  poor 
German,  bewildered  by  so  much  news  and  so  many 
events,  "there  must  be  a  great  confusion  in  the 
house;  if  the  porter  is  at  the  point  of  death,  we 
shall  be  almost  at  liberty  for  some  moments,  that  is 
to  say,  free  from  spies,  for  we  are  spied  upon,  you 
may  be  sure  of  it!  Go  out  now,  take  a  cabriolet, 
drive  to  the  theatre,  say  to  Mademoiselle  Heloi'se, 
our  leading  danseuse,  that  I  want  to  see  her  before  I 
die,  and  ask  her  to  come  here  at  half-past  ten,  when 
she  is  through  at  the  theatre.  From  there,  you  will 
go  to  your  two  friends  Schwab  and  Brunner,  and 
beg  them  to  come  here  to-morrow  at  nine  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  to  come  to  ask  how  I  am,  in  pretend- 
ing to  have  passed  by  here  and  to  have  happened 
to  call— ." 

(387) 


388  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

This  was  the  plan  laid  by  the  old  artist,  who 
felt  himself  dying.  He  wished  to  enrich  Schmucke 
by  making  him  his  sole  heir;  and  to  protect  him 
against  all  possible  chicanery,  he  proposed  to  dic- 
tate his  will  to  a  notary  in  the  presence  of  wit- 
nesses, so  that  no  one  could  subsequently  declare 
that  he  was  out  of  his  mind,  and  in  order  to  deprive 
the  Camusots  of  all  pretext  for  interfering  with  his 
last  wishes.  This  name  of  Trognon  made  him  im- 
agine some  machination,  he  fancied  some  legal  error 
planned  in  advance,  some  treachery  premeditated 
by  the  Cibot,  and  he  resolved  to  employ  Trognon  to 
witness  a  will  written  by  his  own  hand,  which  he 
would  seal  and  lock  up  in  a  drawer  of  his  bureau. 
He  counted  on  being  able  to  show  to  Schmucke, 
whom  he  meant  to  hide  in  a  wardrobe  of  his  alcove, 
Madame  Cibot  getting  at  this  will,  unsealing  it, 
reading  it,  and  sealing  it  again.  Then  the  next  day 
at  nine  o'clock,  he  wished  to  destroy  this  autograph 
will  by  another  drawn  by  a  notary,  which  should 
be  legal  and  incontestable.  When  the  Cibot  had 
treated  him  as  a  lunatic  and  a  visionary,  he  had 
recognized  hatred  and  vengeance,  a  greed  worthy  of 
the  president's  wife;  for,  confined  to  his  bed  during 
two  months,  the  poor  man  during  his  sleepless 
nights  and  his  long  hours  of  solitude  had  gone  over 
all  the  events  of  his  life,  as  if  sifting  them. 

The  sculptors,  ancient  and  modern,  have  often 
placed  on  each  side  of  the  tomb,  Genii  who  bear 
lighted  torches.  These  rays  show  to  the  dying  all 
their  faults  and  all  their  errors  in  lighting  them  the 


COUSIN  PONS  389 

road  to  death.  Sculpture  here  presents  a  great  idea, 
it  formulates  a  human  fact  The  death-moment  has 
its  own  sagacity.  Frequently  there  may  be  seen 
simple  young  girls  of  the  most  tender  age,  endowed 
with  the  wisdom  of  centenarians,  become  prophets, 
judges  of  their  families,  no  longer  the  dupe  of  any 
illusion.  This  is  indeed  the  poetry  of  death.  But 
a  strange  truth,  and  one  worthy  of  remark :  there  are 
two  different  fashions  of  dying.  This  poetry  of  pro- 
phetic intuition,  this  gift  of  seeing  clearly  before 
and  after,  appertains  only  to  those  dying  persons 
whose  physical  powers  are  attacked,  and  who  are 
perishing  through  the  destruction  of  the  vital  organs 
of  the  body.  Thus  those  attacked  like  Louis  XIV., 
by  gangrene,  consumptive  persons,  those  who  die, 
like  Rons,  of  fever,  like  Madame  de  Mortsauf  of 
stomachic  trouble,  or  like  soldiers,  of  wounds  received 
in  the  vigor  of  life, — they  enjoy  this  knowledge,  this 
sublime  lucidity,  and  their  deaths  are  surprising, 
admirable;  while  those  who  die  of  diseases  of  what 
we  may  call  the  intellectual  forces,  when  the 
malady  is  in  the  brain,  in  the  nervous  system, 
which  serves  as  an  intermediary  between  the 
body  and  mind  and  furnishes  the  combustion  for 
thought, — these  die  wholly.  In  their  case,  mind 
and  body  succumb  together.  The  former,  souls 
without  bodies,  are  the  realization  of  the  Biblical 
spectres;  the  others  are  corpses.  This  virgin  man, 
this  epicurean  Cato,  this  just  soul  well-nigh  freed 
from  sin,  had  penetrated  tardily  into  the  recesses, 
filled  with  gall,  which  composed  the  heart  of  the 


3QO  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

president's  wife.  He  divined  the  world  at  the  mo- 
ment of  quitting  it  Thus  for  the  last  few  hours, 
had  he  gaily  assumed  his  part  like  a  joyous  artist, 
to  whom  everything  is  the  pretext  for  a  satire  or  a 
jest  The  last  ties  which  bound  him  to  life,  the 
chains  of  admiration,  the  strong  links  which  held 
the  connoisseur  to  the  masterpieces  of  art,  had  snap- 
ped that  morning.  In  seeing  himself  robbed  by  the 
Cibot,  Pons  had  said  a  Christian  farewell  to  the 
pomps  and  vanities  of  art,  to  his  collection,  to 
his  love  for  the  creators  of  so  many  beautiful 
things,  and  he  wished  to  think  only  of  death  in 
the  spirit  of  our  ancestors,  who  placed  it  among 
the  festivals  of  the  Christian.  In  his  tenderness 
for  Schmucke,  Pons  endeavored  to  protect  him  from 
the  bottom  of  his  grave.  This  paternal  thought 
was  the  motive  for  the  choice  which  he  had  made 
of  the  ballet-dancer  as  a  means  of  succor  against 
the  perfidious  natures  which  surrounded  him,  and 
who  doubtless  would  never  forgive  his  residuary 
legatee. 

Heloise  Briestout  was  one  of  those  natures  which 
remain  true  in  a  false  position,  capable  of  any  pos- 
sible trick  at  the  expense  of  her  rich  adorers,  a  girl 
of  the  style  of  the  school  of  the  Jenny  Cadines  and 
of  the  Josephas;  but  a  good  friend,  and  not  afraid  of 
any  human  power,  through  having  seen  the  feeble- 
ness of  them  all,  and  through  her  skirmishes  with 
the  police  officers  during  the  carnival  and  at  the 
champe'tre  (so-called)  Bal  of  Mabille. 

"If  she  has  got  my  place  for  her  protege  Garangeot, 


COUSIN  PONS  391 

she  will  think  herself  all  the  more  pledged  to  help 
me,"  said  Pons  to  himself. 

Schmucke  was  able  to  go  out  without  being  ob- 
served, thanks  to  the  confusion  which  now  reigned 
in  the  porter's  lodge,  and  he  returned  with  the  very 
greatest  promptness,  so  as  not  to  leave  Pons  all 
alone  too  long. 

Monsieur  Trognon  arrived  to  make  the  will  at  the 
moment  when  Schmucke  returned.  Though  Cibot 
was  at  the  point  of  death,  his  wife  accompanied  the 
notary,  introduced  him  into  the  sick  room,  and 
then  retired,  leaving  together  Schmucke,  Monsieur 
Trognon  and  Pons;  but  she  had  provided  herself 
with  a  little  hand-glass  of  curious  workmanship,  and 
took  her  station  outside  the  door,  which  she  left 
ajar.  She  could  thus  not  only  hear,  but  see,  all  that 
was  said  and  that  took  place  in  this  moment  of 
supreme  importance  for  her. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Pons,"I  have,  unfortunately,  all 
my  faculties,  for  I  think  that  I  am  dying;  and  by 
the  will  of  God,  doubtless,  none  of  the  agonies  of 
death  have  been  spared  me! — This  is  Monsieur 
Schmucke." 

The  notary  bowed  to  Schmucke. 

"He  is  the  only  friend  I  have  on  the  earth,"  said 
Pons,  "and  I  wish  to  make  him  my  residuary 
legatee;  tell  me  in  what  form  the  will  should  be 
drawn,  so  that  my  friend,  who  is  a  German,  and 
knows  nothing  of  our  laws,  may  obtain  the  property 
without  any  contestation." 

"It    is    always    possible  to    contest    anything, 


3Q2  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Monsieur,"  said  the  notary,  "it  is  one  of  the  incon- 
veniences of  human  justice.  But  in  the  matter  of  tes- 
taments, there  are  those  which  are  incontestable." 

"Which  ones?"  asked  Pons. 

"A  testament  drawn  up  before  a  notary  in  pres- 
ence of  witnesses,  who  certify  that  the  testator  is 
in  the  possession  of  his  faculties;  and  if  the  testator 
has  neither  wife,  child,  father  nor  brother." 

"I  have  none  of  them,  all  my  affections  are  cen- 
tered in  my  dear  friend  Schmucke,  whom  you  see 
here." 

Schmucke  wept 

"If  then  you  have  none  but  distant  collateral  re- 
lations, the  law  allows  you  the  free  disposition  of 
your  property,  real  and  personal,  provided  that  you 
do  not  bequeath  it  in  a  way  to  offend  public  moral- 
ity, for  you  must  have  seen  wills  contested  on  ac- 
count of  the  eccentricities  of  the  testators,  a  will 
made  before  a  notary  cannot  be  attacked.  That  is, 
the  identity  of  the  testator  cannot  be  denied,  the 
notary  has  certified  to  his  sanity,  and  the  signature 
cannot  be  disputed — .  Nevertheless,  a  will  drawn 
up  in  the  testator's  own  handwriting,  in  legal  form, 
and  clearly,  is  seldom  open  to  discussion." 

"I  have  decided,  for  reasons  known  to  myself,  to 
write  under  your  dictation  a  will  with  my  own  hand 
and  to  give  it  in  charge  to  my  friend  here. — Can  it 
be  done?" 

"Certainly,"  said  the  notary,  "will  you  write?  I 
will  dictate." 

"Schmucke,  give  me  my  little  writing-desk  of 


COUSIN  PONS  393 

Boulle— monsieur,  dictate  in  a  low  voice,  for,"  he 
added,  "someone  may  be  listening." 

"Tell  me  then,  as  to  your  intentions,"  said  the 
notary. 

At  the  end  of  ten  minutes,  the  Cibot,  who  was 
visible  to  Pons  in  the  mirror,  saw  the  will  sealed 
after  the  notary  had  examined  it  and  while  Schmucke 
lit  a  candle;  then  Pons  handed  the  document  to 
Schmucke,  telling  him  to  lock  it  up  in  a  private 
drawer  in  the  secretary.  The  testator  asked  for  the 
key  of  the  secretary,  tied  it  in  a  corner  of  his  hand- 
kerchief and  put  the  handkerchief  under  his  pillow. 
The  notary,  appointed  executor  by  courtesy,  and  to 
whom  Pons  bequeathed  a  valuable  picture, one  of  the 
things  which  the  law  permits  a  notary  to  accept,  then 
left  the  room  and  found  Madame  Cibot  in  the  salon. 

"Well  monsieur,  has  Monsieur  Pons  remembered 
me?" 

"My  dear  woman,  you  don't  expect  a  notary  to 
betray  the  secrets  that  are  confided  to  him,"  replied 
Monsieur  Trognon.  "All  that  I  can  tell  you  is  that 
there  will  be  a  great  deal  of  cupidity  foiled  and  a 
great  many  hopes  disappointed.  Monsieur  Pons  has 
made  an  admirable  will,  full  of  good  sense,  a  patriotic 
will  and  one  of  which  I  highly  approve." 

It  is  difficult  to  imagine  the  degree  of  curiosity  to 
which  the  Cibot  was  stimulated  by  these  words. 

She  went  down  and  passed  the  night  at  Cibot's 
bedside,  resolving  to  put  Mademoiselle  Remonencq 
in  her  place  and  go  up  and  read  the  will  between 
two  and  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 


The  visit  of  Mademoiselle  Helo'ise  Brisetout  at 
half-past  ten  at  night  seemed  natural  enough  to  the 
Cibot,  but  she  was  so  alarmed  lest  the  danseuse 
should  speak  of  the  thousand  francs  given  by 
Gaudissart  that  she  accompanied  her  up  the  stairs 
with  a  profusion  of  politeness  and  flatteries,  as 
though  she  were  a  sovereign. 

"Ah!  my  dear,  you  are  very  much  better  on  your 
own  ground  than  at  the  theatre,"  said  Helo'ise  as 
they  mounted  the  stairs.  "I  advise  you  to  stay  in 
your  own  place." 

"Helo'ise,  escorted  in  a  carriage  by  Bixiou,  the 
friend  of  her  heart,  was  magnificently  dressed,  for 
she  was  going  to  a  soiree  given  by  Mairette,  one  of 
the  most  illustrious  leading-ladies  of  the  Opera. 
M.  Chapoulot,  a  former  fringe-maker  of  the  Rue 
Saint-Denis,  the  tenant  of  the  first  floor,  who  was 
just  returning  from  the  Ambigu-Comique  with  his 
daughter,  was  dazzled,  as  well  as  his  wife,  by 
meeting  such  a  toilet  and  so  pretty  a  woman  on  the 
staircase. 

"Who  is  it,  Madame  Cibot?"  demanded  Madame 
Chapoulot. 

"She  is  a  nobody,  a  tumbler  who  can  be  seen 
half-naked  any  night  for  forty  sous," — replied  the 
concierge  in  the  ear  of  the  fringe-maker's  wife. 

"Victorine,"  said  Madame  Chapoulot  to  her 
(395) 


396  THE   POOR  RELATIONS 

daughter,  "my  little  girl,  let  madame  pass  at 
once." 

This  cry  of  a  frightened  mother  was  understood 
by  Helo'ise  who  turned  round : 

"Is  your  daughter  then  more  inflammable  than 
tinder,  madame,  that  you  fear  she  will  take  fire  in 
touching  me?" 

Heloise  looked  at  Monsieur  Chapoulot  with  an 
agreeable  air,  smiling. 

"On  my  word  she  is  very  pretty  off  the  stage!" 
said  Monsieur  Chapoulot,  lingering  on  the  landing. 

Madame  Chapoulot  pinched  her  husband  to  the 
point  of  making  him  cry  out,  and  pushed  him  into 
their  apartment 

"Well,  here  is,"  said  Heloise,  "a  second-floor 
which  is  about  as  high  as  a  fourth." 

"Mademoiselle  is,  however,  accustomed  to  climb- 
ing up,"  said  the  Cibot,  opening  the  door  of  the 
apartment 

"Well,  my  old  man,"  said  Heloise,  entering  the 
chamber,  where  she  saw  the  poor  musician  lying  pale 
and  with  a  shrunken  face, "so  you  are  not  very  well  ? 
Everybody  at  the  theatre  is  anxious  about  you ;  but 
you  know  how  it  is,  though  people  have  good  hearts 
yet  every  one  has  his  own  affairs  to  attend  to  and 
cannot  find  an  hour  in  which  to  come  and  see  his 
friends.  Gaudissart  has  been  talking  of  coming  to 
see  you  every  day,  and  every  morning  he  is  caught 
by  some  of  the  worries  of  business.  Nevertheless 
we  all  love  you — " 

"Madame  Cibot,"  said  the  sick  man,  "do  me  the 


COUSIN  PONS  397 

favor  to  leave  me  alone  with  mademoiselle.  We 
have  some  theatrical  business  to  talk  about  and  my 
place  of  leader  of  the  orchestra. — Schmucke  will 
show  madame  out" 

Schmucke,  at  a  sign  from  Rons,  ushered  the  Cibot 
through  the  door  and  drew  the  bolt  behind  her. 

"Ah,  the  beggarly  German,  he  is  getting  corrupted 
too,  is  he,"  said  the  Cibot  to  herslf,  hearing  this 
significant  sound.  "It  is  Monsieur  Pons  who  teaches 
him  all  this  terrible  stuff, — but  you  will  pay  me  for 
that,  my  little  friends," — she  repeated  to  herself  as 
she  went  down  the  stairs.  "Bah!  if  that  she-mounte- 
bank of  a  tumbler  speaks  to  him  of  the  thousand 
francs  I  will  swear  to  them  that  it  is  nothing  but  a 
theatre  joke." 

And  she  sat  down  by  the  bedside  of  Cibot,  who 
was  complaining  of  his  burning  stomach,  for  Remo- 
nencq  had  given  him  something  to  drink  in  his 
wife's  absence. 

"My  dear  child,"  said  Pons  to  the  danseuse, 
while  Schmucke  was  getting  rid  of  the  Cibot,"!  can 
trust  to  no  one  but  you  to  get  me  a  notary,  an  hon- 
est man  who  will  come  to-morrow  morning  at  half 
past  nine  o'clock  precisely,  to  make  my  will.  I 
want  to  leave  all  I  have  to  my  friend  Schmucke. 
If  this  poor  German  should  be  persecuted,  I  rely 
upon  this  notary  to  advise  him  and  defend  him. 
This  is  the  reason  why  I  want  a  notary  of  reputation, 
one  of  wealth,  one  above  all  those  considerations 
which  tempt  ordinary  lawyers,  for  my  poor  legatee 
will  need  to  find  a  support  in  him.  I  don't  trust 


398  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Berthier,  in  the  line  of  succession  from  Cardot,  and 
you  know  so  many  people — " 

"Eh!  I  have  your  man,"  replied  the  dancer;  "the 
notary  of  Florine,  the  Comtesse  du  Bruel,  Leopold 
Mannequin,  a  virtuous  man  who  doesn't  know  what 
a  lorette  is!  He  is  like  a  fairy  god-father,  an  hon- 
est man  who  won't  let  you  commit  any  follies  with 
the  money  you  earn;  I  call  him  the  father  of  figur- 
antes, for  he  has  inculcated  principles  of  economy 
in  all  my  friends.  In  the  first  place,  he  has  sixty 
thousand  francs  of  income  besides  his  practice.  Then 
he  is  a  notary  such  as  notaries  used  to  be  in  the  old 
times !  He  is  a  notary,  when  he  walks,  when  he 
sleeps;  he  has  produced  nothing  but  little  notaries 
and  notaresses. — In  short,  he  is  a  man  heavy  and 
pedantic ;  but  he  is  a  man  who  would  not  yield  be- 
fore any  power  whatever,  when  he  is  in  the  exercise 
of  his  functions.  He  has  never  had  any  woman  to 
plunder  him,  he  is  a  fossil  father  of  a  family !  He 
is  adored  by  his  wife,  who  doesn't  deceive  him,  al- 
though she  is  a  notary's  wife.  What  would  you 
have,  there  is  nothing  better  in  Paris  in  the  way 
of  a  notary.  He  is  patriarchal.  He  is  not  droll 
and  amusing  as  Cardot  was  with  Malaga,  but  he 
will  never  run  away  like  little  What's-his-name 
who  lived  with  Antonia!  I'll  send  you  my  man  to- 
morrow morning  at  eight  o'clock. — You  can  sleep  in 
peace.  Besides,  1  hope  that  you  are  going  to  get 
well,  and  that  you  will  make  us  a  great  deal  more 
pretty  music;  but  after  all,  life  is  sad  enough;  the 
managers  shilly-shally,  kings  are  niggardly,  the 


COUSIN  PONS  399 

ministers  make  a  mess  and  the  rich  men  econo- 
mize.— The  artists  have  no  longer  anything  but 
this !"  she  said,  striking  her  heart  "It  is  a  good  time 
to  die  in. — Adieu  old  man." 

"I  ask  you  above  all  things,  Heloise,  the  greatest 
discretion." 

"It  is  not  an  affair  of  the  theatre,"  said  she,  "it 
is  sacred,  it  is  for  an  artist" 

"Who  is  your  monsieur  now,  little  one?" 

"The  Mayor  of  your  arrondissement,  Monsieur 
Beaudoyer,  a  man  as  stupid  as  the  late  Crevel ;  for, 
you  know,  Crevel,  one  of  Gaudissart's  old  stock  com- 
pany, died  a  few  days  ago  and  he  actually  left  me 
nothing,  not  so  much  as  a  pot  of  pomatum.  That  is 
what  makes  me  say  to  you  that  our  century  is  dis- 
gusting. 

"What  did  he  die  of?" 

"Of  his  wife. — If  he  had  stayed  with  me,  he 
would  be  alive  now!  Goodbye,  my  dear  old  fel- 
low! I  talk  to  you  about  departing  this  life  because 
1  see  you  in  two  weeks  from  now  promenading 
along  the  boulevards  and  smelling  out  your  pretty 
little  curiosities,  for  you  are  not  sick,  your  eyes 
are  brighter  than  I  have  ever  seen  them — " 

And  the  dancer  went  away  certain  that  her  pro- 
tege, Garangeot,  was  secure  in  his  grasp  of  the  baton 
of  leader  of  the  orchestra.  Garangeot  was  her  first- 
cousin. — All  the  doors  of  the  staircase  were  ajar 
and  all  the  householders  afoot  to  see  the  leading 
dancer  pass  out  It  was  the  great  event  in  the 
house. 


400  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Fraisier,  like  those  bull-dogs  which  never  release 
their  hold  on  the  morsel  which  they  have  between 
their  teeth,  was  stationed  in  the  porter's  lodge  beside 
Madame  Cibot  when  the  ballet-dancer  passed  under 
the  porte-cochere  and  called  for  the  door.  He  knew 
that  the  will  was  made,  he  had  just  sounded  the 
concierge;  for  Maitre  Trognon,  notary,  declined  to 
say  a  word  about  the  testament,  as  well  to  Fraisier 
as  to  Madame  Cibot  Naturally  the  man  of  law 
noticed  the  danseuse,  and  promised  himself  to  make 
some  use  of  this  visit  in  extremis. 

"My  dear  Madame  Cibot,"  said  Fraisier,  "this  is 
for  you  a  critical  moment" 

"Ah  yes," — said  she,  "my  poor  Cibot — When  I 
think  that  he  will  not  live  to  enjoy  what  I  am  going 
to  get" 

"The  question  is,  to  know  if  Monsieur  Rons  has  left 
you  anything;  that  is,  if  you  are  mentioned  in  the 
will,  or  if  you  have  been  forgotten,"  said  Fraisier 
continuing.  "I  represent  the  natural  heirs,  and  you 
will  have  nothing,  except  from  them,  in  any  case. — 
The  will  is  in  his  own  handwriting.  It  is  conse- 
quently very  easily  attacked. — Do  you  know  where 
our  man  has  put  it?" 

"In  the  private  drawer  of  his  secretary,  and  he 
took  the  key  and  tied  it  in  a  corner  of  his  handker- 
chief and  he  put  the  handkerchief  under  his  pillow. 
—I  saw  it  all." 

"Was  the  will  sealed  ?" 

"Alas,  yes." 

"It  is  a  crime  to  abstract  a  will  and  to  suppress 


COUSIN  PONS  401 

it,  but  it  is  only  a  misdemeanor  to  look  at  it,  and 
after  all,  what  of  that?  A  peccadillo  which  will  not 
have  any  witness.  Does  he  sleep  heavily,  our  old 
man?" 

"Yes ;  but  that  day,  when  you  were  examining  and 
valuing  the  things,  he  ought  to  have  slept  like  a  top 
and  he  woke  up—  However,  I  am  going  to  see.  This 
morning  I  will  go  and  relieve  Monsieur  Schmucke  at 
four  o'clock  and  if  you  wish  to  come  then  you  will 
have  the  will  in  your  hand  for  ten  minutes. — " 

"Good,  I  will  get  up  at  four  o'clock  and  I  will 
come  and  knock  very  softly — " 

"Mademoiselle  Remonencq,  who  takes  my  place 
by  the  Cibot,  will  know  you  are  coming  and  will 
pull  the  cord;  but  tap  at  the  window  so  as  not  to 
wake  anybody." 

"That  is  understood,"  said  Fraisier,  "you  will 
have  a  light,  won't  you?  A  candle,  that  will  be 
enough  for  me. — " 

At  midnight  the  poor  German,  seated  in  an  arm- 
chair, overwhelmed  with  sorrow,  was  looking  at 
Pons,  whose  face,  drawn  like  that  of  a  dying  man, 
showed  such  signs  of  exhaustion  after  so  many 
fatigues,  that  he  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  expir- 
ing. 

"1  think  that  I  have  just  strength  enough  to  last 
till  to-morrow  evening,"  said  Pons  philosoph- 
ically. "My  death  will  come  without  doubt,  my 
poor  Schmucke,  in  the  course  of  to-morrow  night. 
As  soon  as  the  notary  and  your  two  friends  have 
left  me,  you  will  go  and  fetch  our  good  Abbe 
26 


402  THE   POOR  RELATIONS 

Duplanty,  the  vicar  of  the  church  of  Saint-Francois. 
This  worthy  man  does  not  know  that  I  am  sick, and 
I  wish  to  receive  the  holy  sacrament  to-morrow  at 
mid-day. — " 

He  made  a  long  pause. 

"God  has  not  willed  that  life  should  be  to  me 
what  I  longed  for,"  he  resumed.  "I  could  have 
loved  a  wife,  children,  a  family,  so  well! — To  be 
cherished  by  a  few  faces  in  a  quiet  home  was  my 
sole  ambition.  Life  is  bitter  to  everybody,  for  I 
have  seen  others  having  all  these  things  which  I  so 
vainly  desired,  and  they  were  not  happy. — At  the 
close  of  my  life  the  good  God  has  enabled  me  to 
find  an  unhoped-for  consolation  in  giving  me  such  a 
friend  as  thou ! — And  I  have  not  to  reproach  myself 
with  ever  having  misunderstood  or  not  appreciated 
thee,  my  good  Schmucke;  I  have  given  thee  all  my 
heart,  and  all  my  powers  of  loving. — Don't  weep, 
Schmucke,  or  I  must  be  silent,  and  it  is  so  sweet  for 
me  to  talk  to  thee  of  ourselves. — Had  I  listened  to 
thy  advice  I  would  have  lived.  I  would  have  quitted 
the  world  and  my  old  habits  and  I  should  not  have 
received  this  mortal  wound,  but  now  I  desire  to  con- 
cern myself  only  with  thee!" 

"Toan'd  dink  ov  me! — " 

"Do  not  oppose  me,  listen  to  me,  my  dear  friend. 

"Thou  hast  the  innocence,  the  candor,  of  a  child 
of  six  years,  that  has  never  left  its  mother's  side, 
that  is  very  proper,  it  seems  to  me  that  God  himself 
should  take  care  of  beings  like  to  thee.  But  men 
are  so  wicked  that  I  must  forewarn  thee  against 


COUSIN  PONS  403 

them.  Thou  art  about  to  lose  thy  noble  confidence, 
thy  sacred  credulity,  that  grace  of  spotless  souls 
which  belongs  only  to  men  of  genius,  or  to  hearts 
like  thine. — Thou  wilt  presently  see  Madame  Cibot, 
who  watched  us  through  the  opening  of  the  half- 
closed  door,  come  in  and  take  this  false  will. — I 
presume  that  the  hussy  will  do  this  this  morning, 
when  she  thinks  that  thou  art  asleep.  Listen  to  me 
well,  and  follow  my  instructions  to  the  letter. — Do 
you  hear  me?"  asked  the  sick  man. 

Schmucke,  overwhelmed  with  grief  and  seized 
with  a  fearful  trembling,  had  let  his  head  fall  on  the 
back  of  his  chair  and  seemed  to  have  fainted  away. 

"Yez,  I  hear  you,  put  as  eef  you  vere  do  hundret 
veet  avay. — Eet  zeems  to  me  zat  I  vill  zink  into  der 
doom  mit  you,"  said  the  German,  whose  misery 
was  crushing  him. 

He  came  near  to  Pons,  took  one  hand,  which  he 
held  between  his  own,  and  offered  up,  mentally,  a 
fervent  prayer. 

*'What  art  thou  murmuring  to  thyself  in  Ger- 
man?—" 

"I  hafe  brayed  to  Gott  to  take  uz  to  heemself  to- 
gedder,"  replied  he  simply,  when  he  had  finished  his 
prayer. 

Pons  leaned  over  with  difficulty,  for  he  suffered  an 
intolerable  pain  in  his  liver.  He  stooped  until  he 
touched  Schmucke  and  kissed  him  on  the  forehead, 
shedding  his  soul  like  a  benediction  upon  this 
fellow-creature,  comparable  to  the  lamb  which  re- 
poses at  the  feet  of  God. 


404  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"So,  now  listen  to  me,  my  good  Schmucke,  the 
dying  must  be  obeyed." 

"I  leesen." 

"There  is  an  entrance  from  your  chamber  into 
mine,  by  the  little  door  in  your  alcove  which  opens 
into  one  of  the  cabinets  of  mine." 

"Yez,  put  eet  ees  all  joked  up  mit  bictures." 

"You  must  then  clear  them  out  immediately,  with- 
out making  too  much  noise." 

"Yez." 

"Clear  the  passage  at  both  ends,  into  your  room 
as  into  mine,  then  leave  your  door  ajar.  When  the 
Cibot  comes  to  relieve  your  watch — and  she  is  likely 
to  come  an  hour  earlier  than  usual  this  morning — 
you  must  go  away  as  usual,  as  if  to  sleep,  and  you 
will  appear  to  be  very  tired.  Try  to  put  on  a  sleepy 
air. — As  soon  as  she  settles  in  her  chair,  come 
through  your  door  and  keep  watch  there,  opening  the 
little  muslin  curtain  of  that  door  and  watch  well  all 
that  happens. — You  understand  ? " 

"I  unterstant  you.  You  dink  dat  she-fillain  vill 
purn  der  vill." 

"I  don't  know  what  she  will  do,  but  I  am  sure 
that  you  will  never  think  her  an  angel  afterwards. 
Now  give  me  some  music,  comfort  me  with  one  of 
your  improvisations. — That  will  occupy  your  mind, 
you  will  lose  your  gloomy  ideas  and  you  will  fill  for 
me  this  sorrowful  night  with  your  poems." 

Schmucke  placed  himself  at  the  piano.  Thus 
invoked,  and  at  the  end  of  a  few  minutes,  the  musi- 
cal inspiration,  quickened  by  the  quivering  of  grief 


COUSIN  PONS  405 

and  the  agitation  which  it  caused  him,  transported, 
as  it  ever  did  the  good  German,  beyond  the  confines 
of  earth.  He  found  sublime  themes,  upon  which 
he  embroidered  variations  executed  now  with  the 
sorrow  and  the  Raphaelesque  perfection  of  Chopin, 
now  with  the  passion  and  the  Dantesque  grandeur 
of  Liszt,  the  two  musical  organizations  which  ap- 
proach the  nearest  to  that  of  Paganini.  Execution 
brought  up  to  this  degree  of  perfection  puts  the 
performer  apparently  on  the  level  of  the  poet ;  he  is 
to  the  composer  what  the  actor  is  to  the  author,  a 
divine  interpreter  of  things  divine.  But  during  this 
night,  in  which  Schmucke  made  Pons  to  hear,  in 
advance,  the  concerts  of  heaven,  that  delicious  music 
which  made  the  instruments  fall  from  the  hands  of 
St  Cecilia,  he  was  at  once  Beethoven  and  Paga- 
nini, the  creator  and  the  interpreter !  Inexhaustible 
as  the  nightingale,  sublime  as  the  sky  beneath 
which  it  sings,  rich  and  varied  as  the  forest  which  it 
fills  with  its  roulades,  he  surpassed  himself,  and 
plunged  the  old  musician  who  listened  to  him,  into 
the  ecstacy  which  Raphael  has  painted  and  which  all 
the  world  goes  to  see  at  Bologna.  This  poem  was 
interrupted  by  a  frightful  ringing.  The  maid  of  the 
tenants  of  the  first-floor  came  to  beg  Schmucke,  in 
her  employers'  names,  to  put  a  stop  to  this  Sabbat 
Monsieur,  Madame  and  Mademoiselle  Chapoulot 
having  been  awakened  could  not  go  to  sleep  again, 
and  they  begged  to  observe  that  the  day  was  long 
enough  to  rehearse  theatrical  music,  and  that  in  a 
household  in  the  Mairie,  no  one  ought  to  strum  the 


406  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

piano  all  night — It  was  about  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  At  half-past  three,  as  foretold  by  Pons, 
who  really  seemed  to  have  overheard  the  confer- 
ence between  Fraisier  and  the  Cibot,  the  concierge 
appeared.  The  sick  man  gave  Schmucke  an  intel- 
ligent look  which  meant,  "did  I  not  guess  right?" 
and  then  settled  himself  in  the  position  of  a  man 
who  was  sound  asleep. 

Madame  Cibot's  belief  in  Schmucke's  simplicity 
was  so  profound — and  in  this  may  be  found  one  of 
the  chief  means  as  well  as  the  chief  reason  of  the 
success  of  children's  stratagems, — that  she  could 
not  suspect  him  of  falsehood  when  he  came  to  her 
and  said  to  her  with  an  air  at  once  woeful  and 
joyful,— 

"He  has  hat  a  treatful  nighd ;  mit  a  tiapolic  egzite- 
ment!  I  vas  opliged  to  make  some  muzeec  to  galm 
him  ant  der  lotgers  on  die  first  floor  zent  vord  to 
me  to  ztop! — It  is  frightful,  for  it  conzerns  ze  life  of 
my  frient  I  am  zo  dired  mit  playing  der  music  all 
nighd  long  dat  I  am  ready  to  trob  dis  mornings." 

"My  poor  Cibot  also  is  very  sick,  and  one  day 
more  like  that  of  yesterday,  there  will  be  no  hope 
for  him. — But  what  can  one  do?  It  is  the  will  of 
God." 

"You  haf  a  heart  so  honest,  zo  goot  a  zoul,  zat  if 
der  poor  Zibod  dies  ve  vill  live  togedder!" — said 
the  wily  Schmucke. 

When  simple  and  upright  people  begin  to  dissem- 
ble they  are  terrible,  absolutely  like  children  who 
set  their  traps  with  the  perfect  skill  of  savages. 


COUSIN  PONS  407 

"Well,  you  go  and  sleep,  my  son !"  said  the  Cibot, 
"your  eyes  are  so  tired  that  they  are  popping 
out  of  your  head.  Go  now,  what  would  console  me 
for  the  loss  of  Cibot,  that  would  be  to  think  that  I 
could  finish  my  days  with  a  good  man  like  you. 
Well,  be  easy,  I'll  lead  that  Madame  Chapoulot  a 
pretty  dance. — The  idea  of  a  retired  shop-keeper 
putting  on  such  airs." 

Schmucke  went  and  posted  himself  for  observa- 
tion, in  the  place  he  had  arranged. 

The  Cibot  had  left  the  door  of  the  apartment  ajar, 
and  Fraisier  after  having  entered,  closed  the  door 
very  softly  when  Schmucke  had  shut  himself  up  in 
his  own  apartment  The  attorney  was  furnished 
with  a  lighted  candle  and  with  a  piece  of  very  fine 
brass  wire  with  which  to  open  the  will.  The  Cibot 
was  able  to  extract  the  handkerchief  in  which  the 
key  of  the  secretary  was  knotted,  and  which  she 
found  under  Pons's  pillow,  all  the  more  easily  that 
the  sick  man  had  carefully  left  the  end  of  it  in  sight 
below  the  bolster,  and  that  he  lent  himself  to  her 
manoeuvre  by  keeping  his  nose  turned  toward  the 
wall, and  in  a  position  which  made  it  easy  for  her  to 
draw  away  the  handkerchief.  The  Cibot  went 
straight  to  the  secretary,  opened  it,  trying  to  make 
as  little  noise  as  possible,  found  the  spring  of  the 
secret  drawer  and  ran  with  the  will  in  her  hand  into 
the  salon.  This  strange  proceeding  puzzled  Pons 
to  the  utmost  As  for  Schmucke,  he  was  trembling 
from  head  to  foot  as  if  he  had  committed  a  crime. 

"Go  back  to  your  post,"  said  Fraisier   receiving 


408  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the   will   from  the   Cibot,  "for   if  he  wakes  up  he 
must  see  you  there." 

After  unsealing  the  envelope,  with  an  adroitness 
which  proved  that  this  was  not  his  first  attempt, 
Fraisier  was  plunged  into  profound  astonishment  by 
the  perusal  of  this  remarkable  document 

"THIS  IS  MY  WILL. 

"To-day,  April  15,  1845,  being  of  sound  mind, 
as  this  will  written  in  presence  of  M.  Trognon, 
notary,  will  prove;  feeling  that  I  am  about  to  die 
soon  of  the  disease  under  which  I  have  been  suffer- 
ing since  the  early  part  of  February  last,  and  desiring 
to  dispose  of  all  my  property,  I  hereby  make  known 
my  last  wishes  as  follows : 

"I  have  always  been  struck  with  the  unfortunate 
circumstances  which  injure  the  great  masterpieces 
of  painting  and  which  often  have  brought  about 
their  destruction.  I  have  pitied  noble  pictures  con- 
demned to  travel  from  country  to  country,  without 
ever  being  able  to  remain  stationary  in  any  one 
place,  where  the  admirers  of  these  chefs-d'oeuvre 
might  go  to  see  them.  I  have  always  thought  that 
these  truly  immortal  productions  of  the  famous  mas- 
ters should  be  national  property,  and  should  be  kept 
continuously  before  the  eyes  of  the  people,  like 
light  itself,  God's  own  masterpiece,  which  shines 
for  all  His  children. 

"And  Whereas,  having  passed  my  life  in  collect- 
ing and  choosing  certain  pictures  which  are  glorious 


COUSIN  PONS  409 

works  of  the  greatest  masters,  which  pictures  are 
in  their  first  condition,  not  retouched  nor  repainted, 
I  have  not  considered  without  pain  that  these  can- 
vases, which  have  been  the  happiness  of  my  life, 
might  come  to  the  hammer,  and  go,  some  of  them  to 
England,  some  of  them  to  Russia,  dispersed  and 
scattered  as  they  were  before  they  came  together  in 
my  possession;  I  have  therefore  resolved  to  save 
them  from  such  peril,  and  also  the  magnificent 
frames  which  enclose  them,  and  which  are  all  by  the 
hands  of  skilful  workmen. 

"Therefore,  with  such  motives,  I  give  and  be- 
queath to  the  King,  to  make  part  and  parcel  of  the 
Musee  du  Louvre,  the  pictures  which  compose  my 
collection,  on  condition,  in  case  the  legacy  be  ac- 
cepted, that  he  shall  pay  to  my  friend,  Wilhelm 
Schmucke,  an  annuity  of  two  thousand  four  hundred 
francs. 

"If  the  King,  as  usufructuary  of  the  Musee,  does 
not  accept  the  legacy  on  this  condition,  then  the 
said  pictures  are  to  become  part  of  the  bequest  I 
hereby  make  to  my  friend  Schmucke  of  all  the  prop- 
erty of  which  I  die  possessed,  directing  him  to  give 
my  'Head  of  a  Monkey,'  by  Goya,  to  my  cousin, 
the  President  Camusot;  the  'Flower  Piece/  tulips, 
by  Abraham  Mignon,  to  M.  Trognon,  notary,  whom 
I  appoint  my  executor,  and  to  pay  a  yearly  sum  of 
two  hundred  francs  to  Madame  Cibot,  who  has  had 
charge  of  my  household  for  the  last  ten  years. 

"And  finally,  I  request  my  friend  Schmucke  to 
give  'The  Descent  from  the  Cross,'  by  Rubens, 


410  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  sketch  of  his  famous  picture  at  Antwerp,  to  my 
parish  church  for  the  decoration  of  a  chapel,  in 
gratitude  for  the  kindness  shown  me  by  Monsieur 
le  Vicaire  Duplanty,  to  whom  I  owe  the  privilege  of 
dying  as  a  Christian  and  a  Catholic,"  etc. 


* 

"It  is  ruin!"  said  Fraisier,  "the  ruin  of  all  my 
hopes!  Ah!  I  begin  to  believe  what  the  presi- 
dent's wife  told  me  about  the  malignity  of  this  old 
artist—" 

"Well,"  said  the  Cibot,  coming  in. 

"Your  monsieur  is  a  monster,  he  gives  every- 
thing to  the  Musee,  to  the  State.  Now,  you  cannot 
bring  a  suit  against  the  State. — The  will  cannot  be 
broken.  We  are  robbed,  ruined,  plundered,  assas- 
sinated—!" 

"What  has  he  given  me? — " 

"Two  hundred  francs  a  year. — " 

"A  fine  bequest!  Why!  he  is  a  complete 
rascal ! — " 

"Go  in  and  watch, "  said  Fraisier,  "I  am  going 
to  put  the  will  of  your  blackguard  back  in  the 
envelope." 

As  soon  as  Madame  Cibot  had  turned  her  back, 
Fraisier  adroitly  substituted  a  sheet  of  blank  paper 
in  place  of  the  will,  which  he  put  in  his  pocket; 
then  he  resealed  the  envelope  with  so  much  skill 
that  he  showed  the  seal  to  Madame  Cibot  when  she 
returned,  asking  her  if  she  could  see  the  slightest 
trace  of  the  operation.  The  Cibot  took  the  envel- 
ope, felt  it  all  over,  found  it  full  and  sighed  heavily. 
She  had  hoped  that  Fraisier  might  have  burned 
the  fatal  paper  himself. 

(411) 


412  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Well,  what  are  we  to  do,  my  dear  Monsieur 
Fraisier  ?  "  she  demanded. 

" Ah !  that  is  your  affair !  As  for  me,  I  am  not  an 
heir,  but,  if  I  had  the  slightest  right  to  that,"  said 
he,  indicating  the  collection,  "I  know  very  well 
what  I  should  do. — " 

"That  is  just  what  I  am  asking  you,"  said  the 
Cibot,  with  an  air  of  stupidity. 

"There  is  a  fire  in  the  chimney-place," — replied 
he,  rising  to  go  away. 

"Anyhow,  nobody  but  you  and  I  would  know 
about  it,"  said  the  Cibot 

"It  can  never  be  proved  that  a  will  has  existed," 
returned  the  man  of  law. 

"And  you?" 

"I ! — If  Monsieur  Pons  dies  without  a  will,  I  will 
guarantee  you  one  hundred  thousand  francs." 

"Ah  yes,  I  know,"  said  she,  "people  will  prom- 
ise you  mountains  of  gold  and  when  it  comes  to 
paying  they  will  cut  you  down  like — " 

She  stopped  just  in  time,  for  she  was  on  the  point 
of  speaking  of  £lie  Magus  to  Fraisier. — 

"I  am  off,"  said  Fraisier.  "It  won't  do,  for  your 
sake,  for  me  to  be  seen  in  this  apartment;  but  I'll 
meet  you  below  in  the  lodge." 

After  having  closed  the  door,  the  Cibot  returned, 
the  will  in  her  hand,  fully  determined  to  throw  it 
into  the  fire;  but  when  she  got  back  into  the 
chamber  and  moved  toward  the  chimney  she  felt 
herself  seized  by  the  two  arms ! — She  saw  herself 
between  Pons  and  Schmucke,  who  had  both  been 


COUSIN  PONS  413 

standing  close  against  the  partition-wall,  on  each 
side  of  the  door. 

"Ah ! "  screamed  the  Cibot 

She  fell  flat  on  her  face  in  frightful  convulsions, 
whether  real  or  pretended  was  never  known.  The 
sight  made  such  an  impression  on  Pons  that  he  was 
seized  with  a  deadly  faintness,  and  Schmucke  left 
the  Cibot  on  the  floor  while  he  put  Pons  back  into 
bed.  The  two  friends  trembled  like  persons  who, 
in  the  execution  of  a  painful  purpose,  have  exceeded 
their  strength.  When  Pons  was  again  in  bed,  and 
when  Schmucke  recovered  something  of  his  self- 
possession,  they  heard  sobs.  The  Cibot,  on  her 
knees,  dissolved  in  tears,  stretched  her  hands  toward 
the  two  friends,  supplicating  them  in  a  most  ex- 
pressive pantomime. 

"It  was  pure  curiosity!"  she  cried,  seeing  that 
she  had  attracted  the  attention  of  the  two  friends ; 
"my  dear  Monsieur  Pons!  that  is  the  failing  of  all 
women,  you  know!  But  I  did  not  know  how  to 
read  your  will,  and  I  was  bringing  it  back." 

"Ged  oud ! "  cried  Schmucke,  springing  to  his  feet 
and  swelling  with  all  the  majesty  of  his  indigna- 
tion. "You  air  a  monzder!  you  have  dried  to  gill 
my  good  Bons.  He  vas  righd !  you  air  vorse  zan  a 
monzder,  you  air  a  tefil ! " 

The  Cibot,  seeing  the  horror  which  was  painted 
on  the  face  of  the  honest  German,  rose,  proud  as 
Tartuffe,  threw  upon  Schmucke  a  glance  which 
made  him  tremble,  and  went  out,  carrying  under  her 
gown  a  glorious  little  picture  by  Metzu,  which  Elie 


4M  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Magus  had  greatly  admired  and  which  he  had 
called  "a  gem."  The  Cibot  found  Fraisier  waiting 
for  her  in  the  lodge,  hoping  that  she  had  burned  the 
envelope  and  the  blank  paper  which  he  had  substi- 
tuted for  the  will ;  he  was  much  astonished  when  he 
saw  his  terrified  client  with  her  convulsed  visage. 

"What  has  happened? " 

"What  has  happened,  my  dear  Monsieur  Fraisier, 
is  that  under  pretext  of  giving  me  good  advice  and 
of  directing  me,  you  have  made  me  lose  forever  my 
annuity  and  the  good-will  of  those  gentlemen. — " 

And  she  launched  into  one  of  those  torrents  of 
words  in  which  she  excelled. 

"Do  not  talk  so  much  foolishness,"  said  Fraisier, 
dryly,  stopping  his  client  short,  "get  to  the  fact,  get 
to  the  fact!  and  quickly." 

"Well,  then,  it  was  just  this  way." 

She  recounted  the  scene  as  it  had  taken  place. 

"I  have  made  you  lose  nothing,"  said  Fraisier. 
"Those  two  gentlemen  have  doubted  your  honesty  or 
they  would  not  have  set  that  trap;  they  were 
waiting  for  you,  they  have  been  watching  you. — 
You  do  not  tell  me  all," — added  the  man  of  law, 
casting  a  tigerish  look  on  the  woman. 

"I !  Hide  anything  from  you ! — after  all  that  we 
have  done  together!" — said  she,  shuddering. 

"But,  my  dear,  I  have  done  nothing  reprehensi- 
ble!" said  Fraisier,  manifesting  thus  his  intention 
of  denying  his  nocturnal  visit  to  Pons's  apartment 

The  Cibot  felt  her  hair  stand  on  end,  and  an 
icy  chill  enveloped  her. 


COUSIN  PONS  415 

"What  do  you  mean  ?  " — said  she,  stupefied. 

"It  is  a  criminal  affair,  all  complete! — You  can 
be  charged  with  abstracting  a  will." 

The  Cibot  gave  a  start  of  terror. 

"Make  your  mind  easy,  I  am  your  counsel,"  he 
added.  "I  have  only  wished  to  show  you  how  easy 
it  would  be,  in  one  way  or  another,  to  bring  about 
what  I  warned  you  of.  Come  now,  what  is  it 
that  you  have  done  to  make  that  German,  who  is  so 
innocent,  hide  himself  in  the  room  without  your 
knowing  it?" 

"Nothing  at  all !  it  was  that  affair  of  the  other 
day  when  I  maintained  to  Monsieur  Rons  that  he  had 
seen  double.  Ever  since  that  day  those  two  gentle- 
men have  turned  right  round  against  me.  And  so 
you  are  the  cause  of  all  my  troubles,  for  even  if  I 
had  lost  my  hold  over  Monsieur  Pons  I  was  sure  of 
the  German,  who  was  already  speaking  of  marrying 
me,  or  of  taking  me  with  him,  it  is  all  the  same 
thing." 

This  explanation  was  so  plausible  that  Fraisier 
was  obliged  to  accept  it 

"Do  not  fear,"  he  resumed,  "I  have  promised 
you  the  annuity,  I  shall  keep  my  word.  Up  to  this 
time  everything  in  this  affair  was  hypothetical,  but 
now  it  is  worth  bank-notes.  You  shall  not  have 
less  than  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year. — But  it  will 
be  necessary,  my  dear  Madame  Cibot, that  you  should 
obey  my  orders  and  execute  them  intelligently." 

"Yes,  my  dear  Monsieur  Fraisier,"  said  she  with 
servile  submission,  for  she  was  completely  crushed. 


416  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Very  well,  adieu,"  replied  Fraisier,  leaving  the 
lodge  and  carrying  off  with  him  the  dangerous  will. 

He  returned  home  joyous,  for  the  document  was  a 
powerful  weapon. 

"I  will  have,"  said  he,  "a  strong  security  against 
the  bad  faith  of  Madame  la  Presidente  de  Marville. 
If  she  should  take  it  into  her  head  not  to  keep  her 
word,  she  shall  lose  the  inheritance." 

At  daybreak,  Remonencq,  after  having  opened  his 
shop  and  leaving  it  in  charge  of  his  sister,  went, 
according  to  a  custom  which  he  had  adopted  within 
the  last  few  days,  to  enquire  after  his  good  friend 
Cibot,  and  he  found  Madame  Cibot  contemplating 
the  picture  by  Metzu,  and  asking  herself  why  a  lit- 
tle bit  of  painted  wood  should  be  worth  so  much 
money. 

"Ah!  Ah!"  said  he,  looking  over  her  shoulder, 
"that  is  the  only  one  Monsieur  Magus  regretted  not 
having;  he  said  that  with  that  little  thing  there, 
nothing  would  be  wanting  to  his  happiness." 

"What  will  he  give  for  it?"  asked  the  Cibot 

"Now,  if  you  will  promise  to  marry  me  in  the 
year  of  your  widowhood,"  answered  Remonencq, 
"I'll  engage  to  get  you  twenty  thousand  francs  from 
Elie  Magus,  and  if  you  don't  marry  me  you  will 
never  be  able  to  sell  that  picture  for  more  than  one 
thousand  francs." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  you  would  be  obliged  to  give  a  receipt  as 
the  owner  of  it,  and  you  would  then  have  a  lawsuit 
with  the  heirs.  If  you  are  my  wife,  it  is  I  who  will 


COUSIN  PONS  417 

sell  it  to  Monsieur  Magus,  and  nothing  is  required 
of  a  dealer  but  the  entry  of  the  purchase  in  his  books, 
and  I  will  write  that  Monsieur  Schmucke  sold  it  to 
me.  Come,  put  that  little  board  in  my  hands. — If 
your  husband  dies,  you  might  be  a  good  deal 
bothered  about  it,  and  no  one  would  think  it  queer 
that  I  had  a  picture  among  my  goods.  You  know 
me  well  enough.  Besides,  if  you  like,  I  will  give 
you  a  receipt." 

In  the  criminal  situation  in  which  she  was  surprised, 
the  rapacious  concierge  agreed  to  this  proposal, 
which  put  her  forever  in  the  power  of  the  dealer. 

"You  are  right,  bring  me  a  receipt,"  she  said, 
locking  the  picture  up  in  her  bureau. 

"  Neighbor,"  said  the  dealer  in  a  low  voice,  draw- 
ing the  Cibot  to  the  threshold  of  the  door,  "  I  see 
plainly  that  we  cannot  save  our  poor  friend  Cibot; 
Doctor  Poulain  gave  him  up  yesterday  evening  and 
said  he  could  not  last  out  the  day. — It  is  a  great 
misfortune!  But  after  all,  you  are  not  in  your 
right  place  here. — Your  right  place  would  be  in  a 
fine  curiosity  shop  in  the  Boulevard  des  Capucines. 
Do  you  know  that  I  have  made  very  near  a  hundred 
thousand  francs  in  ten  years,  and  that  if  you  should 
have  as  much  some  day,  I'll  engage  to  make  a  fine 
fortune  for  you, — if  you  are  my  wife.  You  will  be 
a  bourgeoise , — well  served  by  my  sister  who  will 
do  the  housekeeping,  and — " 

The  tempter  was  interrupted  by  the  heart-rending 
moans  of  the  little  tailor,  whose  death  agony  was 
beginning. 
27 


4i 8  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Go  away,"  said  the  Cibot,  "  you  are  a  monster 
to  talk  to  me  of  these  things  when  my  poor  man  is 
dying  in  such  a  state." 

"  It  is  because  I  love  you, "  said  Remonencq,  "  I'd 
stop  at  nothing  in  order  to  have  you." 

"If  you  loved  me  you  would  say  nothing  to  me 
just  now,  she  replied. 

And  Remonencq  returned  to  his  shop,  sure  of 
marrying  the  Cibot 


At  ten  o'clock  there  was  around  the  door  of  the 
house  a  sort  of  tumult,  for  the  last  sacraments  were 
being  administered  to  Monsieur  Cibot  All  his 
friends,  the  concierges,  the  porters,  male  and  female, 
of  the  Rue  de  Normandie  and  the  adjacent  streets, 
crowded  the  lodge,  the  porte-cochere  and  the  pave- 
ment before  the  house.  No  one,  therefore,  paid  the 
least  attention  to  Monsieur  Leopold  Mannequin,  who 
came  with  one  of  his  associates,  nor  to  Schwab  and 
Brunner,  who  were  able  to  go  up  to  Pons's  apartment 
without  being  seen  by  Madame  Cibot  The  con- 
cierge of  the  neighboring  house,  of  whom  the  notary 
enquired  on  which  floor  Monsieur  Pons  lived,  desig- 
nated the  apartment  to  him.  As  to  Brunner,  who 
came  with  Schwab,  he  had  already  been  in  the 
house  to  see  the  Pons  collection,  he  passed  without 
asking  anyone  and  showed  the  way  to  his  com- 
panion.— Pons  formally  revoked  his  will  of  the 
day  before  and  bequeathed  his  whole  property  to 
Schmucke.  This  act  accomplished,  Pons,  having 
thanked  Schwab  and  Brunner  and  after  having  earn- 
estly commended  the  interests  of  Schmucke  to  the 
care  of  Monsieur  Leopold  Mannequin,  sank  into  such 
a  condition  of  exhaustion  in  consequence  of  the 
energy  which  he  had  displayed,  both  in  the  nocturnal 
scene  with  the  Cibot  and  also  in  this  last  act  of 
his  social  life,  that  Schmucke  begged  Schwab  to  go 
(419) 


420  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

at  once  and  inform  the  Abbe  Duplanty,  for  he  was 
unwilling  to  leave  his  friend's  side,  and  Pons  was 
asking  for  the  sacrament. 

Seated  at  the  foot  of  her  husband's  bed,  the  Cibot 
thought  nothing  of  Schmucke's  breakfast,  and  she 
had,  moreover,  been  turned  out  of  their  apartment 
by  the  two  friends,  but  the  events  of  this  morning, 
the  spectacle  of  the  resigned  death  of  Pons, 
who  was  facing  death  heroically,  had  so  wrung 
Schmucke's  heart  that  he  felt  no  hunger. 

Nevertheless,  about  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
having  seen  nothing  of  the  old  German,  Madame 
Cibot,  as  much  from  curiosity  as  from  self-interest, 
asked  Remonencq's  sister  to  go  up  and  see  if 
Schmucke  wanted  anything.  At  this  very  moment 
the  Abbe  Duplanty,  to  whom  the  poor  musician 
had  made  his  last  confession,  was  administering 
extreme  unction.  Mademoiselle  Remonencq  con- 
sequently disturbed  this  ceremony  by  reiterated 
pulls  of  the  bell.  Pons,  having  made  Schmucke 
swear  that  he  would  admit  no  one,  so  great  was  his 
fear  of  being  robbed,  the  old  German  let  Mademoi- 
selle Remonencq  go  on  ringing,  so  that  she  finally 
descended  quite  frightened  and  told  the  Cibot  that 
Schmucke  did  not  open  the  door  to  her.  This 
marked  circumstance  was  taken  note  of  by  Fraisier. 
Schmucke,  who  had  never  seen  anyone  die,  was 
about  to  encounter  all  the  difficulties  which  beset  a 
man  in  Paris  when  he  has  a  corpse  upon  his  hands, 
especially  when  he  is  without  help  or  representa- 
tives, or  means  of  succor.  Fraisier,  who  knew  that 


COUSIN  PONS  421 

relations,  really  afflicted,  lose  their  heads  at  such  a 
time,  and  who  since  morning  had  been  stationed  in 
the  porter's  lodge  in  constant  conference  with 
Doctor  Poulain,  now  conceived  the  idea  of  himself 
directing  all  Schmucke's  proceedings. 

This  is  how  the  two  friends,  Doctor  Poulain  and 
Fraisier,  went  to  work  to  bring  about  this  important 
result 

The  beadle  of  the  Church  of  Saint-Francois,  a 
former  dealer  in  glassware  named  Cantinet,  lived 
in  the  Rue  d'Orleans  in  the  house  adjoining  that  of 
Doctor  Poulain.  Madame  Cantinet,  one  of  the  col- 
lectors of  the  rents  of  chairs  in  the  church,  had  been 
treated  gratuitously  by  Doctor  Poulain,  to  whom 
she  was  naturally  friendly  through  motives  of  grati- 
tude, and  to  whom  she  had  often  related  all  the 
troubles  of  her  life.  The  two  Nut-crackers,  who 
attended  the  services  at  Saint-Francois  on  every 
Sunday  and  f£te  day,  were  on  good  terms  with  the 
beadle,  the  verger,  the  dispenser  of  holy  water,  in 
short,  with  all  that  ecclesiastical  militia  called  in 
Paris  the  "lower  clergy,"  to  whom  the  faithful  are 
in  the  habit  of  giving  small  donations.  Madame 
Cantinet  thus  knew  Schmucke  as  well  as  he  knew 
her.  This  dame  Cantinet  was  afflicted  with  two 
troubles  which  enabled  Fraisier  to  make  of  her  a 
blind  and  involuntary  instrument.  The  young 
Cantinet,  passionately  fond  of  the  theatre,  had  re- 
fused to  follow  a  church  career  in  which  he  might 
have  become  a  verger,  and  had  made  his  appearance 
among  the  supernumeraries  of  the  ballet  at  the 


422  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Cirque-Olympique;  he  led  a  scatterbrained  life, 
which  broke  his  mother's  heart,  and  often  emptied 
her  purse  by  his  forced  loans.  Then  Cantinet 
himself,  given  over  to  laziness  and  liquor,  had 
been  driven  out  of  business  by  these  two  vices. 
Far  from  correcting  them,  this  unfortunate  found 
fresh  opportunities  for  his  two  passions  in  his  pres- 
ent functions ;  he  did  no  work  and  he  drank  with 
the  hackmen  of  the  wedding  parties,  with  the  offi- 
cials of  funerals,  with  the  poor  whom  the  Cure  re- 
lieved, so  that  by  twelve  o'clock  in  the  day  his  face 
was  usually  cardinal-colored. 

Madame  Cantinet  was  herself  doomed  to  poverty 
in  her  old  days,  after  having,  as  she  said,  brought 
twelve  thousand  francs  of  dot  to  her  husband.  The 
history  of  her  misfortune,  a  hundred  times  related  to 
Doctor  Poulain,  suggested  to  him  the  idea  of  using 
her  to  facilitate  the  placing  with  Pons  and  Schmucke 
of  Madame  Sauvage  as  cook  and  general  servant. 
To  present  Madame  Sauvage  herself  was  impossi- 
ble; for  the  distrust  of  the  two  Nut-crackers  was 
fully  roused,  and  the  refusal  to  open  the  door  to 
Mademoiselle  Re'monencq  had  sufficiently  enlight- 
ened Fraisier  on  this  subject  But  it  seemed  evi- 
dent to  the  two  friends  that  the  pious  old  musicians 
would  accept  blindly  anyone  proposed  to  them  by 
the  Abbe  Duplanty.  Madame  Cantinet,  according 
to  their  plan,  should  be  accompanied  by  Madame 
Sauvage ;  and  Fraisier's  servant  once  there  would 
be  as  good  as  Fraisier  himself. 

When  the  Abbe   Duplanty  came  down   he  was 


COUSIN  PONS  423 

detained  a  moment  in  the  porte-cochere  by  the  con- 
course of  Cibot's  friends,  who  were  testifying  their 
interest  in  the  oldest  and  most  esteemed  concierge 
of  the  quarter. 

Doctor  Poulain  saluted  the  Abbe  Duplanty,  took 
him  apart  and  said  to  him : 

"I  am  going  up  to  see  that  poor  Monsieur  Rons, 
who  may  still  recover;  it  is  a  question  of  deciding  to 
submit  to  the  operation  of  removing  the  stones 
which  have  formed  in  the  vesicle  of  the  gall ;  they 
can  be  felt,  they  have  produced  the  inflammation 
which  will  cause  death;  but  perhaps  there  may  be 
still  time  to  arrest  it.  You  should  indeed  make  use 
of  your  influence  over  your  penitent  in  persuading 
him  to  submit  to  this  operation;  I  will  answer  for 
his  life,  provided  that  nothing  unfortunate  inter- 
venes during  the  operation." 

"As  soon  as  I  have  carried  the  sacred  vessels  to 
the  church  I  will  return,"  said  the  Abbe  Duplanty, 
"for  Monsieur  Schmucke  is  in  a  condition  which 
requires  religious  support" 

"I  have  just  learned  that  he  is  alone,"  said  Doctor 
Poulain.  "This  good  German  had  this  morning  a 
little  altercation  with  Madame  Cibot,  who  has  been 
for  ten  years  the  housekeeper  of  those  two  gentle- 
men, and  they  have  quarreled,  temporarily  doubt- 
less ;  but  he  must  not  be  left  alone  without  help,  in 
the  circumstances  in  which  he  finds  himself.  It  is 
a  work  of  charity  to  look  after  him. — Here,  Canti- 
net,"  said  the  doctor,  calling  up  the  beadle,  "ask  your 
wife  if  she  is  willing  to  nurse  Monsieur  Rons  and 


424  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

look  after  the  housekeeping  of  Monsieur  Schmucke 
for  a  few  days  in  Madame  Cibot's  place, — who  in 
fact,  even  without  this  quarrel,  would  have  had  to 
find  a  substitute.  —  Madame  Cantinet  is  a  trust- 
worthy woman,"  said  the  doctor  to  the  Abbe 
Duplanty. 

"You  could  not  choose  a  better  one,"  answered  the 
good  priest,  "for  she  has  the  confidence  of  the  estab- 
lishment, for  whom  she  looks  after  the  letting  of  the 
chairs." 

A  few  moments  later,  Doctor  Poulain  was  watch- 
ing at  the  bedside  of  Pons,the  progress  of  his  disso- 
lution, while  Schmucke  vainly  implored  his  friend 
to  submit  to  the  operation.  The  old  musician  re- 
plied to  the  despairing  entreaties  of  the  poor  Ger- 
man only  by  negative  signs  of  thehead,occasionally 
making  impatient  gestures.  Finally  the  dying  man 
assembled  all  his  strength,  cast  at  Schmucke  a 
terrible  glance  and  said  to  him : 

"Let  me  die  in  peace,  will  you!  " 

Schmucke  was  on  the  point  of  expiring  of  grief 
himself;  but  he  took  the  hand  of  Rons,  kissed  it 
softly  and  held  it  between  his  own  hands,  endeav- 
oring to  transfuse  once  more  his  own  life  into  his 
friend.  At  that  moment  Doctor  Poulain  heard  the 
bell  sound  and  went  and  opened  the  door  to  the 
Abbe  Duplanty. 

"Our  poor  patient,"  said  Poulain,  "commences 
his  last  agony.  He  will  expire  in  a  few  hours;  you 
will  doubtless  send  a  priest  to  watch  with  him  this 
night  But  it  is  time  to  give  Madame  Cantinet  and  a 


COUSIN  PONS 

servant  to  Monsieur  Schmucke,  who  is  incapable  of 
attending  to  anything.  I  fear  for  his  reason,  and 
there  is  property  here  which  should  be  guarded  by 
most  trustworthy  people." 

The  Abbe  Duplanty,  a  good  and  worthy  priest, 
without  suspicion  or  malice,  was  struck  by  the  jus- 
tice of  Doctor  Poulain's  observations ;  he  had  a  firm 
faith,  moreover,  in  the  physician  of  the  quarter;  he 
accordingly  made  a  sign  to  Schmucke  from  the 
threshold  of  the  death-chamber  to  come  out  and 
speak  to  him.  Schmucke  could  not  bring  himself  to 
let  go  the  hand  of  Pons,  which  was  cramped  and 
clasped  to  his  own  as  if  the  dying  man  were  fall- 
ing over  a  precipice  and  sought  to  fasten  upon  some- 
thing that  might  save  him.  But,  as  is  well  known, 
those  about  to  die  are  often  the  prey  of  an  halluci- 
nation which  impels  them  to  lay  hold  of  everything 
around  them,  like  people  in  a  conflagration  anx- 
ious to  save  their  most  valuable  objects,  and  Pons 
suddenly  released  Schmucke's  hand  to  grasp  the  bed- 
clothes and  draw  them  around  his  body  with  a  hor- 
rible and  significant  movement  of  avarice  and  of 
haste. 

"What  will  become  of  you,  alone  with  your  dead 
friend?"  said  the  good  priest  to  the  German,  who 
then  came  to  him.  "You  are  without  Madame 
Cibot" 

' ' She  ees  a  monsder  who'has  gilled  Bons !"  said  he. 

"But  you  must  have  some  one  with  you,"  inter- 
posed Doctor  Poulain,  "for  the  corpse  will  have 
to  be  watched  to-night" 


426  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"I  vill  vatch,  I  vill  bray  to  Gott, "  answered  the 
innocent  German. 

"But  you  must  eat — Who  in  the  meantime  will 
cook  for  you,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Zorrow  has  daken  avay  mine  abbedide,"  replied 
Schmucke  naively. 

"But,"  said  Poulain,  "the  decease  must  be  de- 
clared by  witnesses,  the  body  must  be  unclothed, 
put  in  a  winding-sheet  and  sewed  up  in  it,  the 
funeral  must  be  ordered  at  the  Pompes  Funebres, 
the  nurse  who  takes  charge  of  the  corpse  and  the 
priest  who  watches,  must  have  their  meals.  Can 
you  do  that  yourself  all  alone  ? — People  cannot  die 
like  dogs  in  the  capital  of  the  civilized  world." 

Schmucke  opened  a  pair  of  terrified  eyes  and  was 
seized  with  a  momentary  attack  of  madness. 

"Put  Bons  shall  not  die,  I  vill  save  heem. " 

"You  cannot  last  much  longer  without  taking  a 
little  sleep,  and  then  who  will  take  your  place?  For 
Monsieur  Pons  must  be  looked  after,  and'  must  have 
his  drink  and  his  medicines." 

"Ah,  dat  is  drue!  " — said  the  German. 

"Well,"  remarked  the  Abbe  Duplanty,  "I  think 
of  giving  you  Madame  Cantinet,  an  honest  and 
worthy  woman. — " 

These  details  of  the  social  duties  towards  his  dead 
friend  so  overcame  Schmucke  that  he  longed  to  die 
with  Pons. 

"He  is  a  child!" — said  Doctor  Poulain  to  the 
Abbe  Duplanty. 

"A  jhild!" — repeated  Schmucke  mechanically. 


COUSIN  PONS  427 

"Come,"  said  the  vicar,  "I  will  go  and  speak  to 
Madame  Cantinet  and  send  her  to  you." 

"Don't  give  yourself  the  trouble,  "said  the  doctor. 
"She  is  my  neighbor,  and  I  am  now  on  my  way 
home." 

Death  is  like  an  invisible  assassin  with  whom 
the  dying  struggle;  in  the  last  agony  he  receives 
the  final  blows,  he  endeavors  to  strike  back  and 
resists.  Pons  was  at  this  supreme  moment,  he 
uttered  groans  mingled  with  cries.  At  that  moment 
Schmucke,  the  Abbe  Duplanty  and  Poulain  ran  to 
his  side.  Suddenly  Pons,  receiving  in  his  vitality 
the  last  stab  which  severs  the  bond  which  unites 
soul  and  body,  recovered  for  a  few  moments  the 
perfect  quietude  which  follows  the  death  struggle. 
He  came  to  himself,  the  serenity  of  death  upon  his 
face,  and  he  looked  at  those  around  him  with  an  ex- 
pression that  was  almost  a  smile. 

"Ah,  doctor,  I  have  suffered  much;  but  you  are 
right,  I  am  better  now.  Thanks,  my  good  abbe ;  I 
was  missing  Schmucke." 

"Schmucke  has  not  eaten  anything  since  yester- 
day evening,  and  it  is  now  four  o'clock!  You 
have  no  longer  anyone  to  look  after  you  and  it 
would  be  dangerous  to  recall  Madame  Cibot — " 

"She  is  capable  of  anything,"  said  Pons,  mani- 
festing all  his  horror  at  the  very  name  of  the  Cibot. 
"That  is  true,  Schmucke  needs  some  honest  person 
to  look  after  him." 

"The  Abbe  Duplanty  and  I,"  said  Poulain, "have 
been  thinking  about  you  both." 


428  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"I  thank  you,"  said  Pons,  "I  did  not  reflect — " 

"He  suggests  to  you  Madame  Cantinet — " 

"Who  rents  the  chairs! "  cried  Pons.  "Yes,  she 
is  an  excellent  creature." 

"She  does  not  like  Madame  Cibot  and  she  will 
take  good  care  of  M.  Schmucke. — " 

"Send  her  to  me,  my  good  Monsieur  Duplanty, — 
she  and  her  husband,  then  I  shall  be  easy.  Nothing 
will  be  stolen  here  then. — " 

Schmucke  had  again  taken  the  hand  of  Pons  and 
held  it,  joyfully  believing  that  health  had  come 
back  to  him. 

"Let  us  go,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,"  said  the  doctor. 
"I  will  send  Madame  Cantinet  at  once.  I  know 
her ; — it  is  probable  she  will  not  find  Monsieur  Pons 
living." 


THE  DEATH  OF  PONS 


At  the  moment  when  the  two  women  brought  by 
Doctor  Poulain  presented  tJicmselves,  Pons  had  just 
rendered  his  last  sigh,  ^vithout  Schmucke  having 
perceived  it.  The  German  still  held  in  his  hands 
the  hand  of  his  friend,  out  of  which  the  warmth 
u<as  gradually  disappearing. 


While  the  Abbe  Duplanty  was  inducing  the  dying 
man  to  take  Madame  Cantinet  for  nurse,  Fraisier  had 
sent  for  the  chair-renter  to  his  house  and  subjected 
her  to  his  corrupting  talk,  to  the  crafty  influence  of 
his  wily  power,  which  it  was  difficult  to  resist 
Thus  Madame  Cantinet,  a  yellow  and  withered 
woman,  with  large  teeth  and  pallid  lips,  dulled  by 
misfortune,  like  so  many  of  the  women  of  the  poor, 
and  reduced  to  find  happiness  in  the  most  trivial 
daily  profits,  had  soon  consented  to  take  with  her 
Madame  Sauvage  as  assistant  in  the  household. 
Fraisier's  servant  had  already  received  her  instruc- 
tions. She  had  promised  to  weave  a  wire  net 
around  the  two  musicians,  and  to  watch  over  them 
as  the  spider  watches  the  captured  fly.  Madame 
Sauvage  was  to  receive,  in  return  for  her  trouble,  a 
license  to  sell  tobacco;  Fraisier  had  thus  found  a 
means  of  getting  rid  of  his  pretended  nurse,  and  of 
establishing  by  Madame  Cantinet's  side  a  spy  and 
a  gendarme  in  the  person  of  the  Sauvage.  As  the 
apartment  of  the  two  friends  included  a  small 
kitchen  and  a  servant's  room,  the  Sauvage  could 
sleep  on  a  cot  and  cook  for  Schmucke.  At  the 
moment  when  the  two  women  brought  by  Doctor 
Poulain  presented  themselves,  Pons  had  just  ren- 
dered his  last  sigh,  without  Schmucke  having  per- 
ceived it  The  German  still  held  in  his  hands  the 
(429) 


430  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

hand  of  his  friend,  out  of  which  the  warmth  was 
gradually  disappearing.  He  motioned  to  Madame 
Cantinet  not  to  speak;  but  the  soldierly  Madame 
Sauvage  surprised  him  so  much  by  her  appearance 
that  he  made  an  involuntary  movement  of  fear,  to 
which,  indeed,  that  masculine  woman  was  accus- 
tomed. 

"Madame,"  said  Madame  Cantinet,  "is  a  lady 
whom  Monsieur  Duplanty  recommends;  she  has 
been  cook  to  a  bishop,  she  is  honesty  itself.  She 
can  do  your  cooking." 

"Ah!  you  can  speak  out  loud,"  cried  the  powerful 
and  asthmatic  Sauvage.  "The  poor  gentleman  is 
dead! — He  has  just  gone." 

Schmucke  uttered  a  piercing  cry,  he  felt  the  hand 
of  Rons  icy,  and  stiffening  in  his  own  and  he  stood 
staring,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  those  of  Pons, 
whose  expression  would  have  driven  him  mad,  if 
Madame  Sauvage,  doubtless  accustomed  to  such 
scenes,  had  not  gone  to  the  bed,  and  holding  a  mir- 
ror, presented  it  before  the  dead  man's  lips  and  as 
no  respiration  clouded  the  glass  hastily  separated 
Schmucke's  hand  from  that  of  the  corpse. 

"Let  go,  monsieur,  or  you  won't  be  able  to  get 
loose ;  you  do  not  know  what  bones  are  when  they 
harden!  It  comes  quick,  the  stiffening  of  dead 
bodies.  If  you  don't  prepare  them  while  they  are 
still  warm  you  have  later  to  break  the  limbs. — " 

It  was,  therefore,  this  terrible  woman  who  closed 
the  eyes  of  the  poor,  dead  musician;  then,  with  the 
methodical  habit  of  sick-nurses,  a  business  which 


COUSIN  PONS  431 

she  had  followed  for  ten  years,  she  took  off  Pons's 
clothing,  stretched  him  out  at  full  length,  fastening 
the  hands  on  each  side  of  the  body  and  drawing  the 
sheet  over  his  nose,  precisely  as  a  clerk  makes  up 
a  parcel  of  goods  in  a  store. 

' '  I  want  a  sheet  to  wrap  him  in,  where  can  I  get 
one  ? ' ' — she  asked  Schmucke,  whom  this  spectacle 
had  paralyzed  with  terror. 

After  having  witnessed  the  profound  respect  with 
which  religion  deals  with  a  creature  destined  to  so 
glorious  a  future  in  the  heavens,  it  was  an  anguish 
capable  of  dissolving  the  very  elements  of  thought 
to  witness  this  species  of  packing,  in  which  his 
dear  friend  was  treated  like  a  thing. 

"Dake  vad  you  ligk, "  answered  Schmucke 
mechanically. 

This  innocent  creature  had  seen  a  man  die  for  the 
first  time,  and  this  man  was  Rons,  the  sole  friend 
and  only  being  who  had  ever  understood  him  and 
loved  him ! — 

' '  I  am  going  to  ask  Madame  Cibot  where  the 
sheets  are, ' '  said  the  Sauvage. 

' '  There  will  have  to  be  a  cot  bed  for  this  lady  to 
sleep  on, ' '  said  Madame  Cantinet  to  Schmucke. 

Schmucke  made  a  sign  with  his  head  and  burst 
into  tears.  Madame  Cantinet  left  the  unhappy 
man  alone ;  but  at  the  end  of  an  hour  she  came  to 
him  and  said: 

1 '  Monsieur,  have  you  any  money  to  give  us  to 
buy  some  things  ? ' ' 

Schmucke  turned  on  Madame  Cantinet  a  look  that 


432  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

might  have  disarmed  the  most  ferocious  enemy; 
he  indicated  the  white,  sharp  and  pointed  face  of 
the  dead,  as  if  it  were  an  answer  for  everything. 

"Dake  all,  and  led  me  mourn  ant  bray,"  he  said, 
kneeling  down. 

Madame  Sauvage  had  gone  to  announce  the  death 
of  Rons  to  Fraisier,  who  rushed  in  a  cabriolet  to 
Madame  de  Marville  to  request  of  her  the  power 
of  attorney  which  should  give  him  the  right  to  rep- 
resent the  heirs. 

' '  Monsieur, ' '  said  Madame  Cantinet  to  Schmucke, 
an  hour  after  her  last  question,  ' '  I  have  been  to  see 
Madame  Cibot,  who  knows  all  about  your  household, 
so  that  she  could  tell  me  where  the  things  are ;  but 
as  she  has  just  lost  Monsieur  Cibot,  she  nearly 
drove  me  crazy  with  her  foolishness. — Monsieur, 
will  you  listen  to  me?" 

Schmucke  looked  at  this  woman,  who  had  no  con- 
ception of  her  own  harshness,  for  the  lower  classes 
are  accustomed  to  enduring  stolidly  the  greatest 
moral  suffering. 

"Monsieur,  we  must  have  linen  for  the  winding- 
sheet,  we  must  have  some  money  for  a  cot  bed  for 
this  lady  to  sleep  on ;  we  will  have  to  buy  kitchen 
utensils,  plates,  dishes  and  glasses,  for  the  priest 
will  come  here  to  pass  the  night,  and  this  lady  finds 
absolutely  nothing  in  the  kitchen." 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  began  the  Sauvage,  "1  must 
have  wood  and  coal  to  prepare  the  dinner,  and 
I  don't  see  anything!  That  is  not  very  surprising, 
since  the  Cibot  furnished  you  with  everything. — " 


COUSIN  PONS  433 

"But,  my  dear  lady,"  said  Madame  Cantinet, 
pointing  to  Schmucke,  who  lay  at  the  dead  man's 
feet  in  a  state  of  complete  insensibility,  "you 
wouldn't  believe  me,  you  see  he  answers  nothing." 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  the  Sauvage,  "I'll  show 
you  what  we  do  in  these  cases. " 

The  Sauvage  threw  around  the  room  a  look  such 
as  thieves  cast  when  they  endeavor  to  discover  the 
place  in  which  money  is  hidden.  She  went  straight 
to  Pons's  bureau,  pulled  out  the  top  drawer,  saw 
the  bag  in  which  Schmucke  had  put  the  remainder 
of  the  money  derived  from  the  sale  of  the  pictures 
and  brought  it  to  Schmucke  and  showed  it  to  him ; 
he  made  a  sign  of  mechanical  assent 

' '  Here  is  money,  my  dear, ' '  said  the  Suavage  to 
Madame  Cantinet  ' '  I  am  going  to  count  it,  take 
what  is  necessary  to  buy  some  wine  and  provisions 
and  candles,  in  short,  everything,  for  they  really 
have  nothing.  See  if  you  cannot  find  me  in  the 
bureau  a  sheet  to  wrap  around  the  body.  They 
told  me  that  this  poor  monsieur  was  simple;  but  I 
don't  know  what  he  is,  he  is  worse.  He  is  like  a 
new-born  baby,  we  shall  have  to  feed  him  with  a 
spoon. ' ' 

Schmucke  looked  at  the  two  women  and  at  all 
they  did,  absolutely  as  an  idiot  might  have  looked 
at  them.  Exhausted  by  grief,  sunk  into  a  state 
that  was  almost  cataleptic,  he  never  ceased  to  con- 
template the  face  of  Rons,  which  fascinated  him, 
on  which  the  lines  grew  pure  in  the  absolute  repose 
of  death.  He  hoped  to  die,  and  everything  was 
28 


434  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

indifferent  to  him.  The  room  might  have  been  in 
flames  and  he  would  not  have  stirred. 

' '  There  are  twelve  hundred  and  fifty-six  francs, ' ' 
— said  the  Sauvage  to  him. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  When  the  Sauvage 
wished  to  prepare  the  body  for  burial  and  measure 
the  linen  over  it,  so  as  to  cut  out  the  winding-sheet 
and  sew  it  on,  there  ensued  a  frightful  struggle 
between  her  and  the  poor  German.  Schmucke  was 
exactly  like  a  dog  who  bites  all  who  attempt  to 
touch  the  dead  body  of  his  master.  The  Sauvage, 
growing  impatient,  seized  the  German,  thrust  him 
into  an  arm  chair  and  held  him  there  with  herculean 
strength. 

"Come,  my  dear,  sew  the  corpse  in  this  sheet," 
said  she  to  Madame  Cantinet 

When  the  operation  was  over  the  Sauvage  put 
Schmucke  back  in  his  place  at  the  foot  of  the  bed 
and  said  to  him : 

' '  Do  you  understand,  it  had  to  be  done,  to  truss 
up  the  poor  man  properly  as  a  corpse. ' ' 

Schmucke  commenced  to  weep ;  the  two  women 
left  him  and  went  to  take  possession  of  the  kitchen, 
where  between  them  they  very  soon  got  together 
all  the  necessaries  of  life.  After  having  run  up 
a  first  bill  of  three  hundred  and  sixty  francs,  the 
Sauvage  prepared  the  dinner  for  four  persons,  and 
what  a  dinner !  There  was  the  pheasant  of  cobblers 
— a  fat  goose — for  the  piece  de  resistance,  an  omelet 
aux  confitures,  salad  of  vegetables  and  the  sacramen- 
tal pot-au-feu,  of  which  the  ingredients  were  so 


COUSIN  PONS  435 

extravagant  in  quantity  that  the  broth  resembled  a 
meat  jelly.  At  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  the  priest 
sent  by  the  vicar  to  watch  beside  the  body  of  Rons, 
came  with  Cantinet,  who  brought  four  wax-tapers 
and  the  church  candlesticks.  The  priest  found 
Schmucke  lying  at  full  length  on  the  bed  beside  his 
friend,  holding  him  tightly  clasped  in  his  arms.  It 
required  the  authority  of  religion  to  induce  him  to 
part  from  the  body.  The  German  fell  on  his  knees, 
and  the  priest  arranged  himself  comfortably  in  the 
arm  chair.  While  the  latter  read  his  prayers,  and 
while  Schmucke,  kneeling  by  the  body  of  Pons, 
besought  God  to  reunite  him  to  his  friend  by  a  mir- 
acle, that  he  might  be  put  in  the  same  grave,  Mad- 
ame Cantinet  went  to  the  Temple  and  bought  a  cot 
bed  and  complete  bedding  for  Madame  Sauvage,  for 
the  purse  of  twelve  hundred  and  fifty-six  francs  was 
delivered  to  pillage.  At  eleven  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing Madame  Cantinet  came  to  see  if  Schmucke  would 
eat  a  morsel.  The  German  made  a  sign  that  he  was 
to  be  left  in  peace. 

' '  Your  supper  is  ready,  Monsieur  Pastelot, ' '  she 
said  to  the  priest 

Schmucke  left  alone,  smiled  like  a  madman  who 
sees  himself  free  to  accomplish  a  desire,  comparable 
only  to  the  longing  of  a  pregnant  woman.  He  flung 
himself  beside  Pons  and  held  him  once  more  tightly 
embraced.  The  priest  came  back  at  midnight,  and 
Schmucke,  rebuked  by  him,  released  his  grasp  and 
returned  to  prayer.  At  daybreak  the  priest  went 
away.  At  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Doctor 


436  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Poulain  came  to  see  Schmucke  kindly,  and  endeav- 
ored to  make  him  eat,  but  the  German  refused. 

"If  you  eat  nothing  now  you  will  be  hungry 
when  you  return,"  said  the  doctor  to  him,  "for  you 
must  go  to  the  Mayor's  office  with  a  witness  to 
declare  the  decease  of  Monsieur  Rons  and  get  the 
burial  certificate." 

"I!  "  exclaimed  the  German,  terrified. 

4 '  And  who  else  ? — You  cannot  get  out  of  it,  as  you 
were  the  only  person  who  saw  him  die. ' ' 

"I  haf  no  strengdh  in  meine  legs," — replied 
Schmucke,  imploring  the  doctor's  assistance. 

"Take  a  carriage,"  said  the  hypocritical  doctor, 
gently.  "I  have  already  made  out  the  certificate 
of  the  death.  Get  some  one  in  the  house  to  accom- 
pany you.  These  two  women  will  take  care  of  the 
rooms  in  your  absence. ' ' 


It  is  difficult  to  imagine  what  these  vexatious  pro- 
ceedings of  the  law  are  to  a  real  grief.  It  is  suffi- 
cient to  make  us  hate  civilization,  to  prefer  the  cus- 
toms of  savages.  At  nine  o'clock,  Madame  Sauvage 
brought  Schmucke  down,  holding  him  under  the 
arms,  and  he  was  obliged,  when  he  got  into  the 
hackney  coach,  to  beg  Remonencq  to  go  with  him  to 
declare  the  death  of  Rons  at  the  Mayor's  office. 
Everywhere,  and  in  all  matters,  there  manifests 
itself  in  Paris  the  inequality  of  conditions — in  this 
city  drunk  with  the  idea  of  equality.  This  immu- 
table force  of  circumstances  betrays  itself  even  in 
the  events  attending  a  death.  In  wealthy  families 
a  relative,  a  friend,  the  business  agents,  spare  the 
mourners  all  these  hideous  details;  but  in  that,  as  in 
the  assessment  of  taxes,  the  people,  the  proletaires, 
have  to  bear  all  the  burden  of  sorrow  without  assist- 
ance. 

"  Ah !  you  have  good  reason  to  regret  him, ' '  said 
Remonencq  as  a  complaint  escaped  the  poor  martyr, 
"for  he  was  a  very  fine  man,  a  very  honest  man, 
who  has  left  behind  him  a  fine  collection,  but  do 
you  know,  monsieur,  you,  who  are  a  stranger  here, 
you  are  likely  to  find  yourself  in  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,  for  they  say  everywhere  that  you  are 
Monsieur  Pons's  heir." 

Schmucke  was  not  listening;   he  was    plunged 

(437) 


438  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

into  such  grief  that  he  was  bordering  on  madness. 
The  soul  has  tetanus,  like  the  body. 

"And  you  would  do  well  to  have  yourself  repre- 
sented by  a  lawyer,  by  a  business  agent ' ' 

' '  A  beeznez  achend ! ' '  repeated  Schmucke,  me- 
chanically. 

"You  will  see  that  you  will  have  to  get  someone 
to  represent  you.  If  I  were  in  your  place,  I  should 
find  someone  of  experience,  a  man  known  in  the 
quarter,  a  trustworthy  man. — I,  myself,  in  all  my 
little  affairs,  I  employ  Tabareau,  the  bailiff — And  if 
you  give  your  power  of  attorney  to  his  head  clerk 
you  will  have  no  anxiety  yourself." 

This  insinuation,  suggested  by  Fraisier,  arranged 
between  Remonencq  and  the  Cibot,  stuck  in 
Schmucke's  memory,  for  in  these  moments  in  which 
grief  congeals,  as  it  were,  the  soul,  in  arresting  all 
its  functions,  the  memory  retains  impressions  which 
accident  has  brought  to  it  Schmucke  listened  to 
Remonencq,  looking  at  him  with  an  eye  so  com- 
pletely devoid  of  intelligence  that  the  dealer  said  no 
more  to  him. 

"  If  he  remains  such  an  imbecile  as  that, ' '  thought 
Remonencq,  ' '  I  shall  be  able  to  buy  the  whole  lot 
of  those  things  upstairs  for  one  hundred  thousand 
francs,  that  is,  if  they  are  really  his. — Monsieur, 
here  we  are  at  the  Mayor's  office. " 

Remonencq  was  obliged  to  lift  Schmucke  out  of 
the  carriage,  and  to  take  him  under  the  arm  in  order 
to  get  him  into  the  office  for  civil  certificates, 
where  Schmucke  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  a 


COUSIN  PONS  439 

wedding  party.  He  was  obliged  to  wait  his  turn, 
for,  by  one  of  those  hazards  sufficiently  frequent  in 
Paris,  the  clerk  had  five  or  six  declarations  of 
decease  to  draw  up.  There  this  poor  German  might 
be  said  to  be  a  prey  to  an  anguish  equal  to  that  of 
Jesus. 

' '  Monsieur  is  Monsieur  Schmucke  ?' '  asked  a  man 
in  black,  addressing  the  German,  who  was  stupefied 
at  hearing  himself  called  by  his  own  name. 

Schmucke  looked  at  this  man  with  the  dazed  air 
with  which  he  had  listened  to  Remonencq. 

"Well!"  said  the  dealer  to  the  unknown,  "what 
do  you  want  with  him  ?  Let  this  man  alone,  you 
see  very  well  that  he  is  in  trouble." 

"Monsieur  has  just  lost  his  friend,  and  doubtless 
wishes  to  honor  his  memory  in  a  worthy  manner, 
as  he  is  his  heir,"  said  the  stranger.  "Monsieur 
will  certainly  not  be  niggardly;  he  will  buy  a  burial 
lot  in  perpetuity.  Monsieur  Rons  was  such  a  lover 
of  the  arts !  It  would  be  a  great  pity  not  to  put 
upon  his  tomb  a  group  of  Music,  Painting  and  Sculp- 
ture,— three  fine  figures  on  foot,  weeping" — 

Remonencq  made  the  gesture  of  an  Auvergnat  to 
drive  this  man  away,  and  the  man  replied  by 
another  gesture,  which  may  be  called  the  commercial 
one,  and  which  signified  "let  me  attend  to  my  busi- 
ness," and  which  the  dealer  understood. 

' '  I  am  the  agent  of  the  house  of  Sonet  and  Com- 
pany, furnishers  of  mortuary  monuments,"  resumed 
the  solicitor,  whom  Walter  Scott  would  have  called 
the  'young  man  of  the  tombstones.'  "If  monsieur 


440  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

would  be  pleased  to  give  us  the  commission,  we 
would  save  him  the  annoyance  of  going  to  the  cem- 
etery to  buy  the  ground  necessary  for  the  burial  of 
a  friend,  now  lost  to  the  arts. ' ' 

Remonencq  nodded  his  head  in  assent,  and  nudged 
Schmucke  with  his  elbow. 

"We  charge  ourselves  with  all  these  formalities 
for  families, "  continued  the  man,  encouraged  by  the 
Auvergnat's  nod.  "In  the  first  moments  of  his 
grief,  it  is  very  difficult  for  the  heir  to  attend  to 
such  details,  and  we  are  accustomed  to  undertake 
these  little  services  for  our  customers.  The  price 
of  our  monuments,  monsieur,  is  regulated  by  a  tariff, 
— so  much  a  metre,  in  cut  stone  or  in  marble. — We 
have  the  grave  dug  for  the  family  tombs. — We  take 
charge  of  everything,  at  most  reasonable  prices. 
Our  house  put  up  the  magnificent  monument  of  the 
beautiful  Esther  Gobseck,  and  of  Lucien  de  Rubem- 
pre,  one  of  the  most  magnificent  ornaments  of  Pere- 
Lachaise.  We  employ  the  best  workmen,  and  I 
should  advise  monsieur  to  beware  of  the  small 
undertakers,  who  do  only  cheap  and  worthless 
work,"  he  added,  observing  that  another  man  in 
black  was  coming  towards  them  to  speak  for  another 
house  of  monumental  sculpture. 

It  has  often  been  said  that  death  is  the  end  of  a 
journey,  but  few  persons  realize  how  close  this  sim- 
ilitude really  is  in  Paris.  The  deceased,  especially 
if  he  is  of  quality,  is  greeted  on  the  ' '  sombre  shore' ' 
as  though  he  were  a  traveler  disembarking  at  a  port, 
and  whom  all  the  runners  of  the  various  hotels 


COUSIN  PONS  441 

harass  with  their  recommendations.  No  one,  with 
the  exception  of  certain  philosophers,  or  of  a  few 
families  sure  of  being  long-lived,  who  build  them- 
selves tombs  just  as  they  build  themselves  houses, 
no  one  ever  thinks  of  death  and  its  social  conse- 
quences. Death  comes  always  too  soon ;  and,  more- 
over, a  feeling  easily  understood  prevents  the  heirs 
from  supposing  it  possible.  So  that  nearly  all  those 
who  lose  their  fathers,  their  mothers,  their  wives  or 
children,  are  immediately  assailed  by  these  busi- 
ness runners,  who  profit  by  the  trouble  which  grief 
produces,  to  procure  themselves  orders.  In  former 
times  the  agents  for  sepulchral  monuments  collected 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  famous  cemetery  of  Pere- 
Lachaise,  where  they  formed  a  lane  called  the 
"Street  of  Tombs, "  and  assailed  the  heirs  on  the 
borders  of  the  grave  or  at  their  issue  from  the 
cemetery;  but,  little  by  little,  competition,  the 
genius  of  speculation,  has  pushed  them  to  still 
greater  assurance  and  they  have  descended  into  the 
city,  even  to  the  neighborhood  of  the  Mayor's  office. 
In  fact,  these  drummers  penetrate  even  into  the 
house  of  death  itself,  a  plan  of  the  tomb  in  their 
hands. 

"I  am  doing  business  with  monsieur,"  said  the 
agent  of  the  Maison  Sonet  to  the  new  agent  who 
presented  himself. 

"Rons,  deceased! — Where  are  the  witnesses ?" 
called  out  the  clerk  of  the  Bureau. 

"Come,  monsieur,"  said  the  runner,  addressing 
Remonencq. 


442  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Remonencq  requested  the  man  to  help  him  lift 
Schmucke,  who  was  sitting  like  an  inert  mass  upon 
the  bench ;  they  led  him  to  the  balustrade  behind 
which  the  registrar  of  the  certificates  of  decease 
shelters  himself  from  the  public  grief.  Remonencq, 
who  was  now  Schmucke's  providence,  was  aided  by 
Doctor  Poulain,  who  came  to  furnish  necessary  infor- 
mation as  to  the  age  and  birthplace  of  Pons.  The 
German  knew  only  one  thing,  that  Pons  was  his 
friend.  The  signatures  once  appended,  Remonencq 
and  the  doctor,  followed  by  the  solicitor,  put  the 
poor  German  into  the  coach,  into  which  the  zealous 
agent,  determined  to  obtain  his  order,  managed  to 
slip.  The  Sauvage,  posted  in  observation  on  the 
steps  of  the  porte-cochere,  took  Schmucke,  half-faint- 
ing in  her  arms,  aided  by  Remonencq,  and  by  the 
agent  of  the  Maison  Sonet. 

"He  is  going  to  be  ill," — said  the  agent,  who 
was  determined  to  finish  the  affair  which,  he  said, 
was  commenced. 

"I  should  think  so!"  replied  Madame  Sauvage. 
"He  has  wept  for  twenty-four  hours  and  he  won't 
eat  anything.  Nothing  destroys  the  stomach  like 
grief. ' ' 

"Now  my  dear  client,"  said  the  runner  of  the 
Maison  Sonet,  "do  you  take  a  little  bouillon.  You 
have  so  many  things  to  do.  You  must  go  to  the 
H&tel  de  Ville  and  purchase  the  ground  necessary 
for  the  monument  which  you  wish  to  erect  to  the 
memory  of  that  friend  of  the  arts,  and  which  shall 
testify  to  your  gratitude. ' ' 


COUSIN  PONS  443 

"But  that  is  not  good  sense, "  said  Madame Can- 
tinet  to  Schmucke,  coming  in  with  the  bouillon  and 
some  bread. ' ' 

' '  My  dear  monsieur,  if  you  are  so  feeble  as  that, ' ' 
said  Remonencq,  "you  should  think  of  getting  some- 
one to  represent  you,  for  you  have  a  host  of  things 
to  do ;  the  funeral  procession  will  have  to  be  ordered ! 
you  don't  want  your  friend  to  be  buried  like  a 
pauper. ' ' 

' '  Come !  Come !  My  dear  monsieur ! ' '  said  the 
Sauvage,  seizing  the  moment  when  Schmucke  had 
let  his  head  fall  on  the  back  of  the  chair. 

She  put  a  spoonful  of  the  soup  into  Schmucke 's 
mouth  and  made  him  eat  almost  despite  himself, 
like  an  infant. 

"There  now,  if  you  were  wise,  monsieur,  since 
you  wish  to  give  yourself  up  quietly  to  your  grief, 
you  would  take  someone  to  represent  you. ' ' — 

"Since  monsieur,"  said  the  runner,  "intends  to 
erect  a  magnificent  monument  to  the  memory  of  his 
friend,  he  has  only  to  put  the  whole  matter  into  my 
hands,  I  will  attend  to  it — " 

"What's  that?  What's  that?"  said  the  Sauvage. 
1 '  Monsieur  has  given  you  any  orders !  Who  then 
are  you?" 

1 '  One  of  the  agents  of  the  house  of  Sonet,  my 
dear  lady,  the  largest  establishment  for  funeral 
monuments," — said  he,  drawing  out  a  card  and 
presenting  it  to  the  powerful  Sauvage. 

"Well,  that's  good!  that's  good!  You  will  be 
sent  for  when  they  think  it  convenient,  but  it  is 


444  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

not  necessary  to  take  advantage  of  the  state  mon- 
sieur is  in.  You  see  very  plainly  that  monsieur 
has  not  his  head." 

' '  If  you  will  manage  to  arrange  it  so  that  we  get 
the  order,"  said  the  runner  of  the  Maison  Sonet  in 
the  ear  of  Madame  Sauvage,  drawing  her  out  upon 
the  landing,  "I  am  able  to  offer  you  forty  francs." 

"Very  well,  give  me  your  address,"  said  the 
Sauvage,  much  softened. 


Schmucke,  finding  himself  alone  and  feeling  bet- 
ter after  his  forced  meal  of  soup  and  bread,  returned 
promptly  to  Pons's  chamber  and  gave  himself  up  to 
prayer.  He  was  lost  in  the  abysses  of  grief,  when 
he  was  drawn  from  his  profound  absorption  by  a 
young  man,  dressed  in  black,  who  said,  for  the 
eleventh  time  "Monsieur!"  which  the  poor  martyr 
heard  the  better  as  he  felt  himself  shaken  by  the 
sleeve  of  his  coat 

4 '  What  ees  eet  now  ? " 

1 '  Monsieur,  we  owe  to  Doctor  Gannal  the  sub- 
lime  discovery;  we  do  not  deny  his  glory,  he  has 
renewed  the  miracles  of  ancient  Egypt,  but  there 
have  been  some  improvements  made  and  we  have 
obtained  surprising  results.  Therefore,  if  you  wish 
to  see  your  friend  again  just  as  he  was  in  life — " 

"Zeeheem  again," — cried  Schmucke,  "vill  he 
speek  to  me?" 

"Not  absolutely! — Speech  itself  only  will  be 
lacking  to  him,"  resumed  the  agent  for  embalming; 
"but  he  will  remain  through  all  eternity  such  as 
the  art  of  embalming  will  show  him  to  you.  The 
operation  will  take  only  a  few  moments.  An  inci- 
sion into  the  carotid  artery  and  one  injection  suf- 
fices; but  it  is  high  time. — If  you  wait  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  longer  you  will  not  have  the  tender  satis- 
faction of  having  preserved  the  body — " 

(445) 


446  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Go  to  der  tefil ! — Bons  ees  a  zoul, — and  dat  zoul 
ees  in  de  zkies. " 

"That  man  is  without  gratitude,"  said  the  young 
runner  of  one  of  the  rivals  of  the  celebrated  Gannal, 
as  he  went  out  through  the  porte-cochere;  "he 
refuses  to  have  his  friend  embalmed." 

"What  do  you  expect,  monsieur,"  said  the 
Cibot,  who  had  just  had  her  darling  embalmed. 
"He  is  the  heir,  the  legatee.  Now  that  he  has 
got  what  he  wanted,  the  deceased  ain't  nothing  to 
him." 

An  hour  later  Schmucke  saw  Madame  Sauvage 
enter  the  room,  followed  by  a  man  in  black,  who 
appeared  to  be  a  workman. 

"Monsieur,"  she  said,  "Cantinet  has  been  kind 
enough  to  send  you  monsieur  who  supplies  the 
coffins  for  the  parish. " 

The  furnisher  of  coffins  bowed  with  an  air  of  com- 
miseration and  of  condolence,  but  with  the  air  of  a 
man  sure  of  his  position  and  aware  that  he  is  indis- 
pensable. He  looked  at  the  body  with  the  eye  of  a 
connoisseur. 

"How  does  monsieur  wish  to  have  it,  in  pine  or 
plain  oak,  or  in  oak  lined  with  lead?  Oak  lined 
with  lead  is  the  most  stylish.  The  body,"  he  said, 
"is  the  ordinary  dimensions. — " 

He  felt  for  the  feet  so  as  to  measure  the  body. 

"One  metre  seventy,"  he  added. — "Monsieur 
intends,  no  doubt,  to  order  a  funeral  service  at  the 
church?" 

Schmucke    threw   on  this  man  a  look  such  as 


COUSIN  PONS  447 

mad  men  give  when  they  are  about  to  strike  a  des- 
perate blow. 

"Monsieur,  you  really  should,"  said  the  Sau- 
vage,  "take  some  one  who  will  occupy  himself  with 
all  these  details  for  you." 

"Yez," — said  the  victim  at  last 

"Do  you  want  me  to  go  and  have  Monsieur  Tab- 
areau,  for  you  are  going  to  have  a  great  many 
things  on  your  shoulders.  Monsieur  Tabareau,  do 
you  see,  is  the  most  honest  man  in  the  quarter." 

Yez,  yez,  Mennesir  Dapareau,  dey  tid  speek  to 
me  of  heem," — replied  Schmucke,  vanquished. 

"Very  good — monsieur  shall  be  left  in  peace  and 
free  to  indulge  his  grief  after  he  has  had  a  confer- 
ence with  the  agent  to  whom  he  has  given  full 
powers." 

About  two  o'clock  the  head  clerk  of  Monsieur 
Tabareau,  a  young  man  who  proposed  to  himself  the 
career  of  bailiff,  modestly  presented  himself.  Youth 
has  surprising  privileges — it  does  not  terrify.  This 
young  man,  whose  name  was  Villemot,  sat  down 
beside  Schmucke  and  waited  for  the  right  moment 
to  speak  to  him.  This  consideration  touched 
Schmucke. 

"Monsieur,"  said  he,  "I  am  the  head  clerk  of 
Monsieur  Tabareau,  who  has  given  me  the  charge 
of  looking  after  your  interests  here  and  taking  in 
hand  all  the  details  of  the  funeral  of  your  friend — 
Is  it  your  wish  that  I  should  do  so?" 

"You  gannod  zave  mein  laife,  vor  I  haf  nod  long  to 
leeve,  pud  vill  you  led  me  be  in  beace? " 


448  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Oh!  you  shall  not  have  any  trouble,"  replied 
Villemot 

"Denn, — vat  moost  I  do  vor  dat? " 

"Sign  this  paper,  in  which  you  appoint  Monsieur 
Tabareau  your  mandatory  in  all  matters  concerning 
the  inheritance." 

"Goot  Geef  eet  to  me,"  said  the  German,  wish- 
ing to  sign  instantly. 

"No,  it  is  my  duty  to  read  over  the  instrument 
to  you." 

"Reatit" 

Schmucke  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  the 
reading  of  this  general  power  of  attorney,  and  he 
signed  it 

The  young  man  took  his  orders  for  the  funeral, 
for  the  purchase  of  the  ground  where  the  German 
wished  the  grave  to  be,  and  for  the  service  at  the 
church,  assuring  him  that  he  should  have  no  further 
trouble,  and  that  no  demands  for  money  should  be 
made  upon  him. 

"To  haf  beace,  I  vould  geef  all  dat  I  bossez,"  said 
the  unfortunate  man,  who  once  more  knelt  down 
beside  the  body  of  his  friend. 

Fraisier  triumphed,  and  the  legatee  could  not 
make  one  step  outside  the  circle  in  which  he  was 
held  fast  by  the  Sauvage  and  Villemot 

There  is  no  grief  that  sleep  cannot  conquer. 
Towards  the  end  of  the  day  the  Sauvage  found 
Schmucke  extended  on  the  foot  of  the  bed  on  which 
the  body  of  Rons  was  stretched,  and  sound  asleep ; 
she  carried  him  off,  put  him  to  bed,  and  arranged 


COUSIN  PONS  449 

him  in  it,  maternally,  and  the  German  slept  until 
the  morrow.  When  he  awoke,  that  is  to  say,  when 
after  this  truce  his  sorrow  again  took  possession  of 
him,  the  body  of  Pons  was  exposed  under  the  porte- 
cochere  in  the  Chapette  Ardente,  to  which  the  fune- 
rals of  the  third  class  have  a  right;  he  sought  his 
friend  in  vain  through  this  apartment,  which  seemed 
to  him  immense  and  in  which  he  found  only  fright- 
ful souvenirs.  The  Sauvage,  who  governed  Schmucke 
with  the  authority  of  a  nurse  over  her  little  one, 
compelled  him  to  eat  some  breakfast  before  going 
to  the  church.  While  this  poor  victim  was  forcing 
himself  to  eat,  the  Sauvage  called  his  attention, 
with  lamentations  worthy  of  Jeremiah,  to  the  fact 
that  he  did  not  possess  a  black  coat  Schmucke's 
wardrobe,  taken  care  of  by  Cibot,  had  arrived  before 
Pons's  sickness,  like  his  dinner,  to  its  simplest 
expression, — two  pantaloons  and  two  coats! — 

"You  are  going  to  go  as  you  are  to  the  funeral  of 
monsieur?  That  would  be  an  abomination  that 
would  shame  us  through  all  the  quarter!" — 

"And  how  do  you  veesh  dat  I  zhould  go?  " 

"Why,  in  black."— 

"Plaak?" 

"The  proprieties — " 

"Brobrieties! — I  toan'd  gare  vor  any  zooch  non- 
zenzes ! "  said  the  poor  man,  driven  to  the  last  degree 
of  exasperation,  to  which  suffering  can  force  a  child- 
like soul. 

"Why,  he  is  a  monster  of  ingratitude,"  said  the 
Sauvage,  turning  towards  a  man  who  suddenly 
29 


450  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

appeared  in  the  apartment,  and  who  made  Schmucke 
shudder. 

This  functionary,  magnificently  dressed  in  black 
cloth,  with  black  knee-breeches  and  black  silk  stock- 
ings, with  white  cuffs  at  his  wrists,  decorated  with 
a  silver  chain,  from  which  hung  a  medal,  with  a 
very  correct  white  muslin  cravat  and  white  gloves 
— this  official  type,  one  of  those  struck  out  with  the 
same  die  for  all  public  obsequies,  held  in  his  hand 
an  ebony  wand,  in  sign  of  his  functions,  and  under 
the  left  arm  a  three-cornered  hat  with  a  tricolored 
cockade. 

"I  am  the  master  of  ceremonies,"  said  this  per- 
sonage in  a  soft  voice. 

Accustomed  in  the  exercise  of  his  functions  to 
daily  attend  funerals  and  to  enter  families  plunged 
in  the  same  affliction,  sincere  or  feigned,  this  man, 
in  common  with  all  his  colleagues,  spoke  in  a  low 
voice,  and  gently;  he  was  decent,  polite  and  simple 
by  profession,  like  a  statue  representing  the  genius 
of  Death.  This  announcement  gave  Schmucke  a 
nervous  shock,  as  though  he  had  seen  the  execu- 
tioner. 

"Monsieur  is  the  son,  the  brother,  the  father  of 
the  deceased?  " — inquired  the  official. 

"I  am  all  datant  more — I  am  heez  frient!  " — said 
Schmucke,  with  a  burst  of  tears. 

"Are  you  the  heir?"  asked  the  master  of  ceremo- 
nies. 

"The  heir?"  repeated  Schmucke,  "  Eet  ees  all 
the  zame  to  me,  in  thees  vorld." 


COUSIN  PONS  451 

And  he  sank  again  into  the  attitude  of  his  gloomy 
sorrow. 

"Where  are  the  relatives,  the  friends?"  asked 
the  master  of  ceremonies. 

"Here  dey  are,  all  ov  dem,"  cried  Schmucke,  indi- 
cating the  pictures  and  the  curiosities.  "Nefer  did 
these  mage  mein  boor  Bons  zuffer! — Here  eez  all 
he  lofed  vit  me!" 

"He's  crazy,  monsieur,"  said  the  Sauvage  to  the 
master  of  ceremonies.  "Go  along,  it's  useless  to 
listen  to  him." 

Schmucke  had  re-seated  himself  and  had  resumed 
his  idiotic  expression,  wiping  away,  mechanically, 
his  tears.  At  this  moment  Villemot,  the  head  clerk  of 
Monsieur  Tabareau  appeared;  and  the  master  of 
ceremonies,  recognizing  the  person  who  had  called 
to  order  the  funeral,  said  to  him : 

"Well,  monsieur,  it  is  time  to  start — the  hearse 
is  here ;  but  I  have  seldom  seen  such  a  procession 
as  this  one.  Where  are  the  relatives,  the  friends  ?" — 

"We  have  not  had  much  time,"  replied  Monsieur 
Villemot;  "monsieur  is  plunged  into  such  grief  that 
he  could  think  of  nothing;  but  there  is  only  one 
relation. — " 

The  master  of  ceremonies  looked  at  Schmucke  with 
a  pitying  air,  for  this  expert  in  suffering  was  able 
to  distinguish  the  true  from  the  false,  and  he  went 
close  to  Schmucke : 

"Come,  my  dear  monsieur — courage! — Endeavor 
to  honor  the  memory  of  your  friend." 

"We  have  forgotten  to  send  notices  of  the  funeral, 


452  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

but  I  took  the  pains  to  send  a  messenger  to  Monsieur 
le  President  de  Marville,  the  only  relative,  whom  I 
mentioned  to  you — There  are  no  friends — I  don't 
believe  that  the  people  of  the  theatre,  where  the 
deceased  was  leader  of  the  orchestra,  will  come- 
But  this  gentleman  is,  I  believe,  sole  legatee." 

"Then  he  must  be  chief  mourner,"  said  the  mas- 
ter of  ceremonies.  "Have  you  no  black  coat?  "  he 
asked,  looking  at  Schmucke's  costume. 

"I  am  all  plaack  eenzite," — said  the  poor  Ger- 
man, in  a  heart-rending  voice ;  "ant  zo  plaack  dat 
I  veel  teadh  in  me — Gott  vill  do  me  die  merzy  to 
unide  me  to  mein  frient  in  the  doomb  and  I  vill 
dangk  heem!" — 

And  he  clasped  his  hands. 

"I  have  often  said  to  our  administration,  which 
has  already  introduced  so  many  improvements," 
said  the  master  of  ceremonies,  addressing  Villemot, 
"that  it  ought  to  keep  a  mourning  wardrobe  and  let 
out  costumes  to  the  heirs, — it  is  a  thing  that  is  get- 
ting more  and  more  necessary  every  day — But  since 
monsieur  is  the  heir  he  must  take  a  mourning  cloak, 
and  that  which  I  have  brought  will  wrap  him  up  so 
completely  that  no  one  will  perceive  the  ^appropri- 
ateness of  his  costume. — Will  you  have  the  goodness 
to  rise?  "  said  he  to  Schmucke. 

Schmucke  rose,  but  he  tottered  on  his  legs. 

"Hold  him  up,"  said  the  master  of  ceremonies  to 
the  head  clerk,  "as  you  are  his  proxy." 

Villemot  supported  Schmucke  by  taking  him  under 
the  arm,  and  then  the  master  of  ceremonies  seized 


COUSIN  PONS  453 

that  ample  and  horrible  black  mantle,  which  they 
throw  over  heirs  when  they  follow  the  funeral  car 
from  the  house  of  mourning  to  the  church,  and  fast- 
ened it  by  silk  cords  under  his  chin. 

And  Schmucke  was  thus  duly  appareled  as  the 
heir. 

"Now,  here's  another  great  difficulty,"  said  the 
master  of  ceremonies.  "We  have  the  four  corners 
of  the  pall  to  hold  up.  If  there's  nobody,  who  will 
support  them? — It  is  now  half-past  ten,"  said  he, 
looking  at  his  watch — "they  are  waiting  for  us  at 
the  church." 

"Ah,  there  is  Fraisier!"  cried  Villemot,  very 
imprudently. 

No  one,  however,  noticed  this  admission  of  com- 
plicity. 

"Who  is  this  gentleman?"  asked  the  master  of 
ceremonies. 

"Oh!  it  is  the  family." 

"What  family?" 

"The  disinherited  family.  He  is  the  proxy  of 
Monsieur  le  President  Camusot" 

"Very  good,"  said  the  master  of  ceremonies,  in  a 
tone  of  satisfaction.  "We  can  at  least  have  two  of 
the  tassels  held,  one  by  you,  the  other  by  him." 

The  master  of  ceremonies,  happy  at  having  two 
of  his  tassels  "garnished,"  fetched  two  splendid 
pairs  of  white  doeskin  gloves,  and  presented  them, 
first  to  Fraisier,  then  to  Villemot,  with  a  polite  air. 

"Will  these  gentlemen  be  kind  enough  each  to 
take  one  of  the  corners  of  the  pall  ? " — said  he. 


454  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Fraisier,  all  in  black,  dressed  with  care,  a  white 
cravat  and  official  demeanor,  was  enough  to  cause 
a  shudder — he  expressed  one  hundred  legal  docu- 
ments. 

"Willingly,  monsieur,"  he  replied. 

"If  we  had  only  two  persons  more,"  said  the 
master  of  ceremonies,  "the  four  tassels  could  all  be 
held." 


At  this  moment  the  indefatigable  agent  for  the 
house  of  Sonet  and  Company  arrived,  followed  by 
the  only  man  who  had  thought  of  Pons  and  who 
wished  to  pay  him  the  last  duties.  This  was  a  super- 
numerary of  the  theatre,  one  of  whose  duties  was 
to  lay  out  the  scores  on  the  desks  of  the  orchestra, 
and  to  whom  Pons  gave  a  monthly  gratuity  of  five 
francs,  knowing  him  to  be  the  father  of  a  family. 

"Ah!  Dobinard  (Topinard)!" — cried  Schmucke, 
recognizing  him.  "YoulofBons! — " 

"Yes,  monsieur,  and  I  have  come  every  day  in 
the  morning  to  inquire  for  him — " 

"Efery  tay!  Boor  Dobinard,"  said  Schmucke, 
pressing  the  hand  of  the  poor  supernumerary. 

"But  they  took  me,  without  doubt,  for  a  relation 
and  they  received  me  very  ill.  It  was  no  use  say- 
ing I  came  from  the  theatre  and  wanted  to  know  how 
Monsieur  Pons  was, — they  said  to  me  that  they 
knew  those  tricks.  I  asked  to  see  the  poor,  dear 
sick  man,  but  they  never  would  let  me  come  up." 

"Thad  invamooz  Zipod!" — said  Schmucke,  press- 
ing to  his  heart  the  horny  hand  of  the  theatre 
employe. 

"He  was  the  king  of  men,  that  brave  Monsieur 
Pons.  Every  month  he  gave  me  one  hundred  sous — 
He  knew  that  I  had  three  children  and  a  wife.  My 
wife  is  at  the  church." 

(455) 


456  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"I  vill  defite  mein  lasd  grusd  mil  you!"  cried 
Schmucke,  in  his  joy  at  having  some  one  near  him 
who  loved  Pons. 

"Will  monsieur  take  one  of  the  tassels  of  the 
pall?  "  said  the  master  of  ceremonies.  "We  shall 
then  have  all  four." 

The  master  of  ceremonies  had  easily  persuaded 
the  runner  for  the  house  of  Sonet  to  take  one  of  the 
corners,  more  especially  in  showing  him  the  fine 
pair  of  gloves  which,  according  to  custom,  was  to  be 
his  perquisite. 

"It  is  a  quarter  to  eleven! — we  must  start  imme- 
diately,— they  are  waiting  at  the  church,"  said  the 
master  of  ceremonies. 

Then  these  six  persons  descended  the  stair-case. 

"Close  the  apartment  up  tight  and  stay  there," 
said  the  atrocious  Fraisier  to  the  two  women  who 
were  standing  on  the  landing,  "especially  if  you 
wish  to  keep  the  place,  Madame  Cantinet  Ah !  it 
is  forty  sous  a  day  for  you! — " 

By  an  accident  which  is  not  at  all  uncommon  in 
Paris  there  were  two  coffins  under  the  porte-cochere, 
and  consequently  two  funeral  processions,  that  of 
Cibot,  the  defunct  concierge,  and  that  of  Pons.  No 
one  appeared  to  pay  any  tribute  of  affection  to  the 
handsome  catafalque  of  the  friend  of  the  arts,  but  all 
the  door-keepers  of  the  neighborhood  thronged  to 
sprinkle  the  mortal  remains  of  the  concierge  with 
holy-water.  This  contrast  between  the  crowd 
which  had  come  to  the  funeral  of  Cibot  and  the 
solitude  in  which  Pons  remained,  was  noticeable  not 


COUSIN  PONS  457 

only  at  the  door  of  the  house  but  also  in  the  street, 
where  the  coffin  of  Rons  was  followed  only  by 
Schmucke,  who  was  supported  by  an  undertaker's 
assistant,  for  the  heir  seemed  about  to  faint  at  every 
step.  From  the  Rue  de  Normandie  to  the  Rue  d' 
Orleans,  in  which  the  church  of  Saint-Francois  is 
situated,  the  two  funeral  processions  passed  along 
between  two  hedges  of  curious  spectators,  for  as  we 
have  said,  everything  is  an  event  in  that  quarter. 
The  lookers-on  remarked  upon  the  splendor  of  the 
white  hearse  from  which  hung  an  escutcheon  and 
upon  which  was  embroidered  a  large  "P,"  which 
had  only  one  man  following  it;  while  the  simple 
hearse,  that  of  the  lowest  class,  was  accompanied 
by  an  immense  crowd.  Fortunately,  Schmucke, 
bewildered  by  the  heads  at  the  windows  and  by 
the  hedges  which  the  crowded  gazers  formed,  heard 
nothing,  and  only  saw  this  concourse  of  persons, 
through  the  veil  of  his  tears. 

"Ah!  it  is  the  Nut-cracker," — said  one,  "the 
musician,  you  know!" 

"Who  are  the  persons  who  hold  the  tassels? " — 

"Bah!  only  actors!" 

"Look — see  the  procession  of  the  poor  Pere  Cibot ! 
Ah !  There  was  a  hard  worker  at  least !  What  a 
drudge  he  was !  " 

"He  never  went  out,  that  man!" 

"He  never  took  a  holiday." 

"How  he  did  love  his  wife! " 

"And  there's  an  unhappy  woman!  " 

Remonencq  was  following  the  coffin  of  his  victim, 


458  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

and  received  complimentary  condolences  on  the  loss 
of  his  neighbor. 

These  two  processions  arrived  at  the  church, 
where  Cantinet  had  arranged  with  the  verger  that 
none  of  the  beggars  should  speak  to  Schmucke.  Ville- 
mot  had  promised  the  heir  that  he  should  be  left  in 
peace,  and  he  accordingly  attended  to  all  the  minor 
details  and  watched  over  his  client  The  modest 
funeral  of  Cibot,  escorted  by  from  sixty  to  eighty 
persons,  was  accompanied  by  all  this  crowd  to  the 
cemetery.  When  the  funeral  of  Pons  left  the  church 
four  mourning  coaches  were  waiting;  one  for  the 
clergy,  and  three  others  for  the  relations;  but  only 
one  was  necessary,  for  the  agent  for  the  house  of 
Sonet  had  gone  during  the  service  to  apprise  Mon- 
sieur Sonet  of  the  departure  of  the  procession  in 
order  that  he  could  present  the  design  and  the  esti- 
mate for  the  monument  to  the  legatee,  as  he  came 
out  of  the  cemetery.  Fraisier,  Villemot,  Schmucke 
and  Topinard  occupied  the  first  coach.  The  two 
others,  instead  of  returning  to  their  establishment, 
went  empty  to  Pere-Lachaise.  This  useless  trip  of 
empty  carriages  often  occurs.  When  the  deceased 
have  not  attained  to  any  celebrity,  and  therefore 
have  few  mourners,  there  are  always  too  many 
carriages.  The  dead  need  to  have  been  very  much 
beloved  during  life  to  be  followed  to  the  grave  in 
Paris,  where  everybody  wishes  to  find  a  twenty- 
fifth  hour  to  the  day  and,  therefore,  cannot  find  time 
to  follow  a  parent  or  a  friend  to  the  cemetery.  But 
the  drivers  of  the  coaches  would  lose  their  pourboirc 


COUSIN  PONS  459 

if  they  did  not  make  their  appearance.  Thus,  full 
or  empty,  the  coaches  go  to  the  church  and  the  cem- 
etery and  return  to  the  house  of  death,  where  the 
coachmen  demand  their  drink-money.  No  one 
knows  the  number  of  people  for  whom  Death  is  a 
watering  trough, — the  lower  clergy,  the  poor,  the 
undertakers'  men,  the  drivers  of  coaches,  the  grave- 
diggers, — all  these  spongy  natures  come  out  swollen 
after  their  plunge  in  these  funeral  ceremonies. 

From  the  church,  where  the  heir  was  assailed  as 
he  left  it,  by  a  crowd  of  paupers  who  were  immedi- 
ately dispersed  by  the  verger,  all  the  way  to  Pere- 
Lachaise,  the  poor  Schmucke  went  as  the  criminals 
used  to  go  from  the  Palais  to  the  Place  de  Greve. 
He  was  conducting  his  own  funeral,  holding  in  his 
hand  the  hand  of  the  theatre  man,  Topinard,  the 
only  man  who  had  in  his  heart  a  real  regret  for  the 
death  of  Pons.  Topinard,  extremely  touched  with 
the  honor  which  they  had  done  him  in  confiding  to 
him  one  of  the  cords  of  the  pall,  and  pleased  at  driv- 
ing in  a  carriage  and  possessing  a  fine  pair  of  gloves, 
began  to  feel  that  Pons's  funeral  marked  for  him  one 
of  the  great  days  of  his  life.  Sunken  in  grief,  sus- 
tained by  the  contact  of  this  hand  which  represented 
a  heart,  Schmucke  let  himself  be  rolled  along  like 
those  unhappy  calves  carried  in  carts  to  the 
slaughter-house.  On  the  forward  seat  of  the  car- 
riage sat  Fraisier  and  Villemot  Now,  those  who 
have  had  the  misfortune  to  accompany  many  of 
their  friends  to  their  last  resting-place  are  aware 
that  all  hypocrisy  is  laid  aside  in  the  funeral  coach 


460  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

during  the  ride,  which  is  often  very  long,  from  the 
church  to  the  Cimetiere  de  1'Est,  that  particular 
Parisian  cemetery  where  all  the  vanities  and  all  the 
luxuries  give  each  other  rendezvous,  and  where  the 
sumptuous  monuments  congregate.  The  indifferent 
mourners  commence  the  conversation,  and  the 
most  afflicted  end  by  listening  to  them  and  forget- 
ting themselves. 

"Monsieur  le  President  had  already  started  for 
the  court,"  said  Fraisier  to  Villemot,  "and  I  didn't 
think  it  worth  while  to  drag  him  from  his  duties  at 
the  Palais,  he  would  have  come  too  late  in  any 
case.  As  he  is  the  natural  and  legal  heir,  though 
disinherited  in  favor  of  Monsieur  Schmucke,  I 
thought  that  it  would  be  sufficient  if  his  representa- 
tive were  present" 

Topinard  began  to  listen. 

"And  who  is  that  queer  fellow  who  made  the 
fourth  pall-bearer?"  said  Fraisier  to  Villemot 

"He  is  the  agent  for  a  firm  that  puts  up  funeral 
monuments,  and  he  wanted  to  get  an  order  for  a 
tomb,  on  which  he  proposes  to  carve  three  figures 
in  marble — Music,  Painting  and  Sculpture — weeping 
over  the  deceased." 

"Quite  an  idea,"  replied  Fraisier.  "The  old 
man  merits  something  like  that ;  but  that  monument 
would  cost  at  least  seven  or  eight  thousand  francs." 

"Oh!  yes." 

"If  Monsieur  Schmucke  gave  the  order,  that  could 
not  necessarily  affect  the  property,  for  an  estate 
may  be  eaten  up  in  such  expenses. — " 


COUSIN  PONS  461 

"There  might  be  a  lawsuit,  and  they  would  win 
it—" 

"Well,"  resumed  Fraisier,  "that  will  be  his 
affair.  That  would  be  a  good  trick  to  play  those 
furnishers," — said  Fraisier  in  Villemot's  ear,  "for 
if  the  will  is  broken,  and  I  will  answer  for  that — or 
if  there  should  be  no  will  at  all,  who  is  it  that  will 
pay  them?" 

Villemot  laughed  maliciously.  The  man  of  law 
and  the  head  clerk  of  Tabareau  spoke  in  low  tones 
and  in  each  other's  ears;  but,  despite  the  noise 
of  the  wheels  and  all  the  other  disturbances,  the 
theatre  employe,  accustomed  to  guess  at  meanings 
in  the  world  of  the  green-room,  discovered  that  these 
two  lawyers  were  plotting  some  trouble  for  the  poor 
German,  and  he  finally  heard  the  significant  word 
Clichy!  From  that  moment  this  worthy  and  faithful 
servant  of  comedy  resolved  to  keep  watch  over  the 
friend  of  Pons. 

At  the  cemetery,  where,  thanks  to  the  agent  of 
the  Maison  Sonet,  Villemot  had  purchased  three 
metres  of  ground  from  the  city,  announcing  that  a 
magnificent  monument  would  be  erected  on  it, 
Schmucke  was  conducted  by  the  master  of  ceremo- 
nies, through  a  curious  crowd,  to  the  grave  into 
which  Pons  was  to  be  lowered.  But  when  he  saw 
this  square  hole,  above  which  four  men  were  hold- 
ing the  coffin  of  Pons  suspended  by  ropes,  over 
which  the  priest  was  saying  his  last  prayer,  the 
German  was  seized  with  such  a  contraction  of  the 
heart  that  he  fainted  away. 


462  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Topinard,  assisted  by  the  agent  of  the  house  of 
Sonet,  and  by  Monsieur  Sonet  himself,  carried  poor 
Schmucke  into  the  establishment  of  the  marble-cut- 
ter, where  the  kindest  and  most  generous  attentions 
were  showered  on  him  by  Madame  Sonet  and 
Madame  Vitelot,  the  wife  of  Monsieur  Sonet's  part- 
ner. Topinard  remained  there,  for  he  had  noticed 
that  Fraisier,  whose  aspect  seemed  to  him  to  prom- 
ise the  gallows,  was  in  conference  with  the  agent 
of  the  house  of  Sonet. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour,  about  half-past  two  o'clock, 
the  poor  innocent  German  recovered  his  senses. 
He  thought  that  he  had  been  dreaming  for  two  days. 
He  imagined  that  he  should  wake  up  and  find  Rons 
living.  There  were  so  many  damp  cloths  on  his 
forehead  and  he  had  been  made  to  inhale  so  much 
salts  and  vinegar  that  he  opened  his  eyes.  Madame 
Sonet  forced  him  to  drink  some  good  strong  broth, 
for  the  pot-au-feu  was  prepared  in  the  marble-cutter's 
household. 

"It  doesn't  happen  often  that  we  have  to  take  care 
thus  of  customers  who  feel  as  deeply  as  this ;  but  it 
may  be  seen,  however,  about  once  in  two  years. — " 

At  last  Schmucke  spoke  of  returning  to  the  Rue 
de  Normandie. 

"Monsieur,"  then  said  Sonet,  "here  is  the  design 
which  Vitelot  has  made  expressly  for  you,  and  he 
sat  up  all  night  to  do  it !— But  he  has  been  truly 
inspired!  It  will  be  very  fine — " 

"It  will  be  one  of  the  finest  in  Pere-Lachaise," 
said  little  Madame  Sonet,  "but  you  would  be  right 


COUSIN  PONS  463 

to  honor  the  memory  of  a  friend  who  has  left  you 
his  whole  fortune — " 

This  monument,  said  to  have  been  "designed 
expressly,"  had  been  prepared  for  De  Marsay,  the 
famous  minister;  but  his  widow  having  preferred  to 
entrust  his  monument  to  Stidmann,  the  design  of 
these  marble-cutters  had  found  no  sale,  for  people 
generally  have  a  horror  of  monuments  kept  in  stock. 
The  three  figures  represented  originally  the  days  in 
July,  in  which  that  great  minister  distinguished 
himself.  Since  then,  with  some  modifications, 
Sonet  and  Vitelot  had  made  of  the  "Three  Glori- 
euses,"  the  Army,  Finance  and  Family,  for  the 
monument  of  Charles  Keller,  but  this  was  also  exe- 
cuted by  Stidmann.  For  the  last  eleven  years  the 
design  had  been  adapted  to  every  possible  family 
circumstance;  but  in  tracing  it  anew  for  this  occa- 
sion, Vitelot  had  transformed  the  three  figures  into 
those  of  the  genius  of  Music,  Sculpture  and  Paint- 
ing. 

"The  cost  is  really  nothing,  if  we  consider  the 
details  and  the  construction ;  but  in  six  months  we 
could  have  it  completed,"  said  Vitelot.  "Monsieur, 
here  is  the  estimate  and  the  contract, — seven  thou- 
sand francs,  not  including  the  labor." 

"If  monsieur  wishes  marble,"  said  Sonet,  who 
was  more  particularly  a  marble  cutter,  "it  will  be 
twelve  thousand  francs,  and  monsieur  will  immor- 
talize himself  with  his  friend. — " 

"I  have  just  heard  that  the  will  is  to  be  con- 
tested," said  Topinard  in  Vitelot's  ear,  "and  that 


464  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  heirs  will  be  certain  to  recover  their  property ; 
you  had  better  go  and  see  Monsieur  le  President 
Camusot,  for  this  poor  innocent  will  not  have  a 
Hard—" 

"You  are  always  bringing  us  customers  like  that!" 
said  Madame  Vitelot,  to  the  agent,  beginning  a 
dispute. 


Topinard  took  Schmucke  back  to  the  Rue  de  Nor- 
mandie  on  foot,  for  the  funeral  carriages  had  already 
returned  there. 

"Toan'd  leaf  me!  " — said  Schmucke  to  Topinard. 

Topinard  wished  to  go  away  after  having  con- 
signed the  poor  musician  to  the  hands  of  dame 
Sauvage. 

"It  is  four  o'clock,  my  dear  Monsieur  Schmucke, 
and  I  must  go  and  get  my  dinner — My  wife,  who  is 
a  box-opener,  won't  know  what  has  become  of  me. 
You  know  the  theatre  opens  at  a  quarter  to  six." — 

"Yez,  I  know — pud  zhust  dingk,  I  am  alone  in  the 
vorldt,  I  haf  no  frient  You  who  haf  wepdt  for 
Bons,  insdruct  me.  I  am  in  a  plaack  nighd,  and 
Bons  dolt  me  I  waz  zurrountet  mit  rascals — " 

"I  have  already  seen  that,  and  I  prevented  them 
from  putting  you  to  bed  in  Clichy !  " 

"Gligy?" — cried  Schmucke.  "I  toan'd  unter- 
stant" 

"Poor  man!  Well,  don't  worry — I  will  come 
again  and  see  you.  Good-bye." 

"Atieu!  Redurn  zoon,"  said  Schmucke,  dropping 
down,  almost  dead  with  weariness. 

"Adieu  Mosieu!  "  said  Madame  Sauvage  to  Topi- 
nard, in  a  tone  that  struck  that  follower  of  the  drama 
as  peculiar. 

"Oh,  what's  the  matter  with  you,  good  woman? " 
30  (465) 


466  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

he  said  jokingly.  "You  stand  there  like  a  traitor 
in  a  melodrama." 

"Traitor  yourself!  What  are  you  meddling  about 
here?  Are  you  going  to  run  monsieur's  affairs,  and 
make  a  little  something  for  yourself? — " 

"Little  something  for  myself! — you  scullion," — 
returned  Topinard,  proudly.  "I  am  only  a  poor 
worker  at  a  theatre,  but  I  belong  to  artists  and  I 
would  have  you  know  I  ask  nothing  from  anyone. 
Has  anybody  asked  anything  of  you?  Does  any- 
body owe  you  anything,  old  woman  ? " — 

"You  belong  to  the  theatre,  and  your  name 
is  — ? "  demanded  the  virago. — 

"Topinard,  at  your  service." 

"Luck  go  with  you,"  said  the  Sauvage,  "and  my 
compliments  to  Mtdtme,  if  Mosieur  is  married — 
That  is  all  1  want  to  know." 

"What's  the  matter,  my  dear?" — said  Madame 
Cantinet,  who  came  in. 

"I  wish,  my  little  one,  that  you  would  stay  here 
and  look  after  the  dinner.  I  am  going  to  kick  this 
monsieur  down  stairs. — " 

"He  is  down  stairs,  he  is  talking  with  that  poor 
Madame  Cibot,  who  is  shedding  all  the  tears  in  her 
body,"  replied  the  Cantinet 

The  Sauvage  rushed  down  the  stair  way  with  such 
rapidity  that  the  steps  shook  under  her  feet 

"Monsieur," — said  she  to  Fraisier,  drawing  him 
a  few  steps  away  from  Madame  Cibot 

And  she  indicated  Topinard  at  the  moment  when 
the  theatre  employe  passed  out,  proud  of  having* 


COUSIN  PONS  467 

paid  his  debt  to  his  benefactor,  by  hindering — with 
a  ruse  inspired  by  the  side  scenes — where  everyone 
is  more  or  less  roguish — the  friend  of  Pons  from 
falling  into  a  trap.  Moreover  he  promised  himself 
to  protect  the  musician  of  his  orchestra  against  all 
the  traps  that  might  be  set  for  his  credulity. 

"Do  you  see  that  little  wretch! — he  is  a  sort  of 
honest  man  who  wishes  to  stick  his  nose  into  Mon- 
sieur Schmucke's  affairs." 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Fraisier. 

"Oh,  nobody—" 

"There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  nobody  in  business. " 

"Well,"  she  said,  "he  is  a  man  belonging  to  the 
theatre,  named  Topinard. " — 

"Very  good,  Madame  Sauvage!  Go  on  as  you  are 
doing  and  you  shall  have  your  tobacco  license." 

Fraisier  returned  to  his  conversation  with  Madame 
Cibot 

"As  I  was  saying,  my  dear  client,  you  have  not 
played  fair  with  us,  and  we  are  not  bound  to  keep 
terms  with  an  associate  who  deceives  us! " 

"And  in  what  have  I  deceived  you?  " — said  the 
Cibot,  putting  her  hands  on  her  hips.  "Do  you 
think  you  are  going  to  scare  me  with  your  verjuice 
looks  and  your  snaky  ways  ? — You  are  hunting  for 
bad  reasons  to  break  your  promises,  and  you  call 
yourself  an  honest  man ! — Do  you  know  what  you 
are?  You  are  the  scum  of  the  earth.  Oh,  yes, 
scratch  your  arm ! — but  put  that  in  your  pocket! " 

"Don't  talk  so  much,  don't  get  angry,  my  dear," 
said  Fraisier.  "Listen  to  me!  You  have  feathered 


468  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

your  own  nest — This  morning  during  the  prepara- 
tions for  the  funeral  1  found  this  catalogue  in  dupli- 
cate, written  throughout  in  Pons's  hand.  And  by 
chance  my  eyes  fell  on  this." 

And  he  opened  the  manuscript  catalogue  and  read 
as  follows : 


' '  No.  7 — Magnificent  portrait  painted  on  marble  by  SSbastien 
del  Piombo  in  1546,  sold  by  a  family  who  had  caused  it  to  be  car- 
ried off  from  the  Cathedral  of  Term.  This  portrait,  which  formerly 
had  as  pendant  a  portrait  of  a  bishop,  bought  by  an  Englishman, 
represents  a  Knight  of  Malta  in  prayer,  and  was  placed  over  the 
tomb  of  the  Rossi  family.  If  it  were  not  for  the  date,  this  picture 
might  be  attributed  to  Raphael.  This  work  seems  to  me  superior  to 
the  portrait  of  Baccio  Bandinelli  in  the  Musle,  which  is  somewhat 
dry,  whilst  this  Knight  of  Malta  has  a  freshness  of  color  due  to  the 
preservation  of  the  painting  on  the  LAVAGNA  (slate).'  " 

"When  I  looked,"  resumed  Fraisier,  "  at  the  place 
of  No.  7,  I  saw  there  a  portrait  of  a  lady,  signed 
Chardin  and  no  No.  7  at  all ! — While  the  master  of 
ceremonies  was  completing  the  number  of  his  pall- 
bearers I  verified  all  the  pictures,  and  I  found  eight 
substitutions  of  common  pictures  without  numbers, 
for  works  named  as  of  the  first  importance  by  the 
late  Monsieur  Pons,  and  which  are  not  to  be  found 
at  all — There  is  also  missing  a  little  picture  on 
wood,  by  Metzu,  which  is  designated  as  a  master- 
piece— " 

"Am  I  the  keeper  of  the  pictures — I?  "  demanded 
the  Cibot 

"No,  but  you  were  the  confidential  housekeeper, 


COUSIN  PONS  469 

looking  after  the  household  and  the  affairs  of  Mon- 
sieur Pons,  and  there  has  been  robbery — ' 

"Robbery!  Learn,  monsieur,  that  the  pictures 
were  sold  by  Monsieur  Schmucke  under  the  orders 
of  Monsieur  Pons  to  meet  their  expenses." 

"To  whom?  "— 

"To  Messieurs  FJie  Magus  and  Remonencq." 

"For  how  much?  " — 

"I  don't  remember — " 

"Listen,  my  dear  Madame  Cibot,  you  have  filled 
your  pockets  and  they  are  pretty  plump !  " — resumed 
Fraisier.  "I  have  my  eye  on  you,  I  will  look  out 
for  you — Serve  me  well  and  I  will  keep  silence!  In 
any  case,  you  are  to  count  on  receiving  nothing 
from  Monsieur  le  President  Camusot,  inasmuch  as 
you  have  thought  proper  to  plunder  him." 

"I  knew  very  well,  my  dear  Monsieur  Fraisier, 
that  it  would  turn  out  there  was  nothing  for  me," 
replied  the  Cibot,  softened  by  the  words,  "I  will  be 
silent" 

"Look  here,"  said  Remonencq,  appearing  on  the 
scene,  "are  you  picking  a  quarrel  with  madame; 
that  isn't  right! — The  sale  of  the  pictures  was  made 
on  a  natural  understanding  with  Monsieur  Pons, 
between  Monsieur  Magus  and  myself,  and  we  were 
three  days  before  coming  to  an  agreement  with  the 
deceased,  for  he  dreamed  about  those  pictures !  We 
have  the  receipts  all  in  order,  and  if  we  gave,  as  is 
done,  a  few  forty-franc  pieces  to  madame,  she  only 
got  what  we  give  in  all  bourgeois  houses  where 
we  conclude  a  bargain.  Ah!  my  dear  monsieur,  if 


470  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

you  think  you  are  going  to  deceive  a  defenseless 
woman,  you  have  come  to  the  wrong  shop !— Do  you 
hear  me,  you  pettifogger  ?  Monsieur  Magus  is  mas- 
ter of  the  situation,  and  if  you  don't  draw  it  mildly 
with  madame  here,  if  you  don't  give  her  what  you 
have  promised  her,  I  will  go  to  the  sale  of  the  collec- 
tion, you  will  see  what  you  will  lose  if  you  have 
Monsieur  Magus  and  myself  against  you,  who  would 
know  how  to  stir  up  the  dealers.  Instead  of  seven 
or  eight  hundred  thousand  francs  you  wouldn't  get 
two  hundred  thousand! " 

"Very  well,  very  well,  we  will  see !  We  won't 
sell  at  all,"  said  Fraisier,  "or  we  will  sell  in 
London." 

"We  know  London,  too,"  said  Remonencq,  "and 
Monsieur  Magus  is  as  powerful  there  as  he  is  in 
Paris." 

"Adieu,  madame,  I  may  pluck  your  feathers," 
said  Fraisier;  "unless  you  obey  me  always,"  he 
added. 

"You  little  sharper !" 

"Take  care,"  said  Fraisier,  "I  am  to  be  juge-de- 
paix." 

They  parted  with  menaces,  which  were  well- 
understood  on  both  sides. 

"Thank  you,  Remonencq,"  said  the  Cibot  "It 
is  a  good  thing  for  a  poor  widow  to  find  a  protector. " 

That  evening,  at  about  ten  o'clock,  Gaudissart 
sent  for  Topinard  to  come  into  his  private  office  at 
the  theatre.  Gaudissart,  standing  before  the  chim- 
ney, had  taken  a  Napoleonic  attitude,  assumed  since 


COUSIN  PONS  471 

he  had  been  directing  a  world  of  actors,  dancers, 
chorus-hands,  musicians  and  machinists  and  had 
been  negotiating  with  authors.  He  habitually  slipped 
his  right  hand  into  his  vest,  grasping  his  left  sus- 
pender, holding  his  head  in  three-quarters  profile 
and  casting  his  glance  into  the  void. 

"Ah,  Topinard,  have  you  any  property  to  live 
on?" 

"No,  monsieur." 

"Are  you  looking  for  some  place  better  than  the 
one  you  have?"  asked  the  director. 

"No,  monsieur,"  answered  the  supernumerary, 
turning  pale. 

"What  the  devil!  Your  wife  is  box-opener  on 
the  first  tier — I  have  let  her  keep  that  position  out  of 
respect  for  my  failed  predecessor — I  gave  you  the  job 
of  cleaning  the  iamps  of  the  side  scenes  during  the 
day;  and  finally  you  have  charge  of  the  scores  for 
the  orchestra.  That  isn't  all !  you  have  extra  pay 
of  twenty  sous  for  making  the  monsters  and  for  mar- 
shaling the  devils  when  there  are  hells.  It  is  a  place 
coveted  by  all  the  supernumeraries,  and  it  is  coveted, 
my  friend,  in  the  theatre,  where  you  have  enemies. " 

"Enemies!"  said  Topinard. 

"And  you  have  three  children,  of  which  the  eldest 
plays  the  juvenile  parts  with  extra  pay  of  fifty  cen- 
times!—" 

"Monsieur — " 

"Let  me  speak,"  said  Gaudissart,  in  a  thundering 
voice.  "In  such  a  position  as  that,  you  wish  to 
quit  the  theatre." 


472  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Monsieur — " 

"You  wish  to  meddle  with  other  people's  affairs 
and  to  stick  your  fingers  into  legacies!  But,  you 
miserable  man,  you  will  be  crushed  like  an  egg!  I 
have  for  protector  His  Excellency,  Monseigneur 
le  Comte  Popinot,  a  man  of  intelligence  and  of  a 
high  character,  whom  the  King  has  in  his  wisdom 
called  to  a  place  in  his  Council — This  statesman,  this 
representative  of  high  political  power, — I  speak  of  the 
Comte  Popinot, — has  married  his  eldest  son  to  the 
daughter  of  the  President  de  Marville,  one  of  the 
most  important  and  respected  men  in  the  superior 
judiciary  and  the  chief  luminary  of  the  law  at  the 
Palais.  You  know  the  Palais  ?  Well,  he  is  the  heir 
of  his  cousin  Pons,  the  late  leader  of  our  orchestra, 
to  whose  funeral  you  went  this  morning.  I  don't 
blame  you  for  going  to  pay  the  last  duty  to  that 
poor  man — But  you  won't  keep  your  place  here  if 
you  go  and  meddle  in  the  affairs  of  the  worthy  Mon- 
sieur Schmucke,  to  whom  I  wish  well,  but  who  will 
find  himself  in  very  delicate  complications  with  the 
heirs  of  Pons — And,  as  this  German  is  very  little 
to  me,  and  as  the  president  and  Comte  Popinot  are 
a  great  deal  to  me,  I  advise  you  to  let  this  worthy 
German  disentangle  his  own  affairs.  There  is  a 
special  God  for  the  Germans,  and  you  would  make 
a  very  poor  sub-God !  do  you  see,  you  had  better 
stay  where  you  are!  you  can't  do  better." 

"Enough,  Monsieur  le  Directeur,"  said  Topinard, 
heart-broken. 


Schmucke,  who  expected  the  next  day  to  see  this 
poor  theatre  employe,  the  only  being  who  had  shed 
a  tear  for  Rons,  thus  lost  the  protector  whom  chance 
seemed  to  have  sent  him.  The  poor  German  woke 
on  the  morrow  to  a  sense  of  the  immense  loss  which 
had  befallen  him,  in  seeing  the  empty  apartment. 
During  the  two  preceding  days,  the  events  and  the 
bustle  attending  the  death  had  produced  around 
him  that  excitement,  that  movement,  which  dis- 
tracts the  eyes.  But  the  silence  which  follows  the 
departure  of  a  friend,  of  a  father,  of  a  son,  of  a 
beloved  wife,  for  the  tomb,  the  cold  silence  of  the 
morrow,  is  terrible,  it  is  glacial.  Drawn  by  an  irre- 
sistible impulse  into  the  chamber  of  Rons  the  poor 
man  could  not  endure  its  aspect,  he  recoiled,  and 
returned  to  his  seat  in  the  dining-room,  where 
Madame  Sauvage  served  the  breakfast  He  sat 
down,  but  could  not  eat  Suddenly  the  bell  rang 
rather  loudly,  and  three  men  in  black  appeared,  for 
whom  Madame  Cantinet  and  Madame  Sauvage 
made  way.  First  Monsieur  Vitel,  juge-de-paix,  and 
his  clerk  appeared.  The  third  was  Fraisier,  more 
bitter,  more  harsh  than  ever,  having  just  encoun- 
tered the  disappointment  of  hearing  that  there  was 
another  will,  legally  drawn,  which  annulled  the 
powerful  weapon  he  had  so  audaciously  stolen. 

"We  have  come,  monsieur,"  said  the  juge-de-paix 
gently  to  Schmucke,  "to  affix  the  seals  here." — 
(473) 


474  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Schmucke,  to  whom  these  words  were  Greek, 
gazed  at  the  three  men  with  a  frightened  air. 

"We  have  come  at  the  request  of  Monsieur  Frai- 
sier,  advocate,  the  representative  of  Monsieur  Ca- 
musot  de  Marville,  heir  of  his  cousin,  the  late  Sieur 
Rons — "  added  the  clerk. 

"The  collection  is  there  in  the  large  salon  and  in 
the  bedroom  of  the  deceased,"  said  Fraisier. 

"Very  good.  We  will  pass  on  —  Excuse  us, 
monsieur.  Go  on  with  your  breakfast, "  said  the 
juge-de-paix. 

The  invasion  of  the  three  men  in  black  had  frozen 
the  poor  German  with  terror. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Fraisier,  directing  on  Schmucke 
one  of  those  venomous  glances  which  magnetized 
his  victims  as  a  spider  magnetizes  a  fly, "monsieur, 
who  has  contrived  to  have  a  will  made  in  his  own 
favor  before  a  notary  must  expect  to  meet  with  some 
opposition  from  the  rightful  heirs.  No  family  will 
permit  themselves  to  be  robbed  by  a  stranger  with- 
out making  resistance,  and  we  shall  see,  monsieur, 
which  will  get  the  better,  fraud  and  corruption,  or 
the  family. — We  have  a  right,  as  legitimate  heirs, 
to  demand  that  the  seals  be  affixed,  this  will  be 
done,  and  I  will  see  that  this  protective  act  be  per- 
formed with  the  utmost  rigor,  and  it  will  be." 

"Mine  Gott,  mine  Gott!  what  grime  haf  I  gom- 
mitted  against  Heafen?"  said  the  innocent 
Schmucke. 

"They  are  talking  a  great  deal  about  you  in  the 
house,"  said  the  Sauvage.  "While  you  were  asleep 


COUSIN  PONS  475 

there  came  a  little,  young  man,  all  dressed  in  black, 
a  little  puppy,  the  head  clerk  of  Monsieur  Manne- 
quin, and  he  insisted  on  seeing  you;  but  as  you 
were  asleep  and  as  you  were  worn  out  with  the 
fatigues  of  the  ceremony  of  yesterday,  I  told  him 
that  you  had  given  a  power  of  attorney  to  Monsieur 
Villemot,  the  head  clerk  of  Monsieur  Tabareau,  and 
that  if  he  had  come  on  business,  to  go  and  see  him. 
'Ah!  so  much  the  better,'  said  the  little,  young  man 
— 'I  can  come  to  an  understanding  with  him.  We 
are  going  to  deposit  the  will  with  the  court  after 
showing  it  to  the  president'  So,  on  that  I  asked 
him  to  send  Monsieur  Villemot  here  to  us  as  soon  as 
he  could.  Be  easy,  my  dear  monsieur,"  said  the 
Sauvage,  "you  will  have  people  to  defend  you.  And 
they  won't  shear  the  wool  from  your  back.  You 
will  have  some  one  who  has  teeth  and  claws !  Mon- 
sieur Villemot  will  teach  them  their  business — As 
for  me,  I  have  already  been  in  a  passion  with  that 
frightful  beggar  of  a  Madame  Cibot,  a  concierge 
who  takes  it  upon  herself  to  judge  her  tenants  and 
who  declares  that  you  have  filched  this  fortune  from 
the  heirs,  that  you  have  locked  up  Monsieur  Rons, 
that  you  have  made  a  tool  of  him,  that  he  was  crazy 
enough  to  be  put  in  a  straight-jacket,  but  I  revenged 
you  on  her  in  fine  style,  the  wretch !  'You  are  a 
thief  and  a  pig, '  I  said  to  her,  'and  you  will  go  to 
the  assizes  for  all  the  things  you  have  stolen  from 
your  gentlemen ! ' — And  she  shut  her  mouth." 

"Monsieur,"   said     the  clerk,   coming  back  to 
Schmucke,    "do  you   wish   to    be    present   when 


476  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

the  seals  are  affixed  in  the  bed-room  of  the  de- 
ceased? " 

"To  id,  to  id,"  said  Schmucke,  "I  brezume  thad 
I  gan  tie  in  beace?" 

"One  has  always  a  right  to  die,"  said  the  clerk, 
laughing,  "and  our  chief  business  is  with  the  prop- 
erty they  leave  behind  them.  But  I  have  seldom 
seen  the  sole  heir  following  the  testators  into  the 
tomb." 

"I  vill  to  zo,"  said  Schmucke,  who  felt,  after  so 
many  blows,  an  intolerable  anguish. 

"Ah!  here's  Monsieur  Villemot,"  cried  the  Sau- 
vage. 

"Mennisir  Fillemod,"  said  the  poor  German, 
"bleas  do  rebresend  me — " 

"I  hasten  to  do  so,"  said  the  head  clerk.  "I  have 
come  to  inform  you  that  the  will  is  entirely  in  order, 
and  will  certainly  be  confirmed  by  the  court  which 
will  put  you  in  possession — You  will  have  a  fine 
property." 

"I — a  vine  broberdy!"  cried  Schumcke,  in  des- 
pair, at  being  suspected  of  covetousness. 

"Meantime, "said the  Sauvage/'what  is  he  doing 
there,  that  juge-de-paix,  with  his  candles  and  his 
little  bands  of  tape?" 

"Ah!  he  is  affixing  the  seals — Come,  Monsieur 
Schmucke,  you  have  a  right  to  be  present" 

"No,  bleaze  go  yourzelv — " 

"But  why  does  he  put  on  the  seals  if  monsieur  is 
in  his  own  house,  and  if  everything  belongs  to 
him?"  asked  the  Sauvage,  making  a  law  for  herself, 


COUSIN  PONS  477 

like  all  women,  who  interpret  the  code  according  to 
their  own  ideas. 

"Monsieur  is  not  in  his  own  house,  madame,  he 
is  in  that  of  Monsieur  Rons;  everything  will  belong 
to  him  without  doubt,  but  when  one  is  legatee  one 
can  only  take  possession  of  the  property  which 
composes  the  inheritance  by  what  we  call  a  man- 
date of  possession.  This  is  issued  by  the  court 
Now,  if  the  heirs,  dispossessed  of  the  inheritance  by 
the  will  of  the  testator,  contest  the  mandate  in 
possession,  then  there  is  a  law-suit — And,  as  it  is 
not  known  to  whom  the  succession  will  fall,  all  the 
property  is  put  under  seal,  and  the  notaries  of  the 
heirs  and  of  the  legatee  proceed  to  make  the  inven- 
tory during  the  delay  required  by  law.  And  that  is 
how  it  is." 

Hearing  this  legal  language  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  Schmucke  lost  his  head  altogether.  He  let 
it  fall  on  the  back  of  the  armchair  in  which  he 
was  sitting,  it  was  so  heavy  that  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  sustain  it  Villemot  went  to  talk  with 
the  clerk  and  the  juge-de-paix,  and  assisted,  with 
the  coolness  of  long  practice,  in  the  placing  of  the 
seals,  which,  if  no  heirs  are  present,  is  seldom 
accomplished  without  a  few  jests,  and  without  some 
observations  made  on  the  articles  which  are  thus 
fastened  up  until  the  day  of  their  distribution.  At 
last  the  four  limbs  of  the  law  closed  the  salon  and 
re-entered  the  dining-room,  where  the  clerk  contin- 
ued his  work.  Schmucke  watched  this  operation 
mechanically,  which  consisted  in  sealing  with  the 


478  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

official  seal  of  the  juge-de-paix  a  tape  on  each  leaf  of 
the  doors  when  they  were  folding  doors,  or  to  seal  up 
the  openings  of  the  wardrobes,  or  of  the  doors  in 
fastening  the  two  sides  of  the  opening. 

"Let  us  go  into  this  room,"  said  Fraisier,  point- 
ing to  Schmucke's  chamber,  the  door  of  which 
opened  into  the  dining-room. 

"But  that  is  monsieur's  own  room!"  said  the 
Sauvage,  springing  forward  and  putting  herself 
between  the  lawyers  and  the  door. 

"Here  is  the  lease  of  the  apartment,"  said  the 
frightful  Fraisier,  "we  found  it  among  the  papers, 
and  it  is  not  in  the  names  of  Messieurs  Rons  and 
Schmucke — it  is  in  the  name  of  Monsieur  Rons  only. 
This  entire  apartment  is  part  of  the  property. — 
Besides,"  he  added,  opening  the  door  of  Schmucke's 
chamber,  "see,  Monsieur  le  juge-de-paix,  it  is  full 
of  pictures." 

"So  it  is,"  said  the  justice,  yielding  at  once  to 
Fraisier's  lead. 

"Stop a  moment,  messieurs,"  said  Villemot  "Do 
you  think  that  you  are  going  to  turn  out  of  the  door 
the  sole  legatee,  whose  rights  up  to  the  present, 
have  not  been  contested?  " 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Fraisier.  "We  forbid  deliver- 
ance of  the  legacy." 

"And  under  what  pretext?" 

"You  will  soon  know,  my  little  man,"  said  Frai- 
sier, jeeringly.  "At  this  time  we  will  not  oppose 
the  legatee  from  withdrawing  all  articles  which  he 
declares  to  belong  to  him  personally  in  this  room ; 


COUSIN  PONS  479 

but  it  will  be  sealed  up.  And  monsieur  can  go  and 
lodge  wherever  he  likes." 

"No,"  said  Villemot,  "monsieur  will  stay  in  his 
own  room!" 

"How?" 

"1  will  have  a  report  drawn  up,"  resumed  Ville- 
mot, "to  demonstrate  to  you  that  we  are  tenants  of 
the  half  of  this  apartment  and  that  you  cannot  turn 
us  out  of  it — Take  away  the  pictures,  decide  on 
those  which  belong  to  the  deceased  and  those  which 
are  my  client's,  but  my  client  will  stay  here, — my 
little  man!" 

"I  vill  go  avay, "  said  the  old  musician,  who 
recovered  his  energy  in  listening  to  this  horrible 
debate. 

"You  had  better!"  said  Fraisier.  "That  would 
save  you  expense,  for  you  will  not  gain  your  cause. 
The  lease  is  formally  made  out — ' ' 

"The  lease,  the  lease!"  said  Villemot,  "that  is  a 
matter  of  good  faith ! — ' ' 

"It  cannot  be  proved,  as  in  criminal  affairs,  by 
testimony. — Are  you  going  to  rush  into  expert  tes- 
timony, verifications,  interlocutory  judgments,  and 
bring  a  suit?  " — 

"No,  no!"  cried  Schmucke,  terrified.  "I  vill 
moof  oud,  I  vill  go  avay — ' ' 

Schmucke's  life  was  that  of  a  philosopher,  cyni- 
cal without  knowing  it,  so  much  was  it  reduced  to 
the  simplest  expression.  He  possessed  only  two 
pairs  of  shoes,  one  pair  of  boots,  two  complete  suits 
of  clothes,  twelve  shirts,  twelve  silk  handkerchiefs, 


480  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

twelve  pocket  handkerchiefs,  four  waistcoats,  and 
a  superb  pipe,  which  Pons  had  given  him  with  an 
embroidered  tobacco-pouch.  He  went  into  his  cham- 
ber, roused  to  action  by  a  fever  of  indignation,  and 
gathered  up  all  his  belongings  and  laid  them  on  a 
chair. 

"All  thad  iz  mein!" — said  he,  with  a  simplicity 
worthy  of  Cincinnatus;  "the  biano  is  alzo  mein." 

"Madame,"  said  Fraisier  to  the  Sauvage,  "will 
you  get  some  help  to  carry  it  down  and  put  it  on  the 
pavement, — this  piano?  " 

"You  are  too  harsh,"  said  Villemot  to  Fraisier. 
"Monsieur  le  juge-de-paix  is  the  master  to  order 
what  he  wishes — he  is  the  master  in  this  affair. ' ' 

"There  is  property  there,"  said  the  clerk,  point- 
ing to  the  bed-room. 

"Moreover,"  observed  the  justice,  "monsieur 
leaves  of  his  own  free-will. ' ' 

"Did  anyone  ever  see  such  a  client!  "  said  Ville- 
mot, turning  on  Schmucke  indignantly.  "You  are 
as  limp  as  a  rag." — 

"Vad  gan  id  madder  vhere  I  tie  ? ' '  said  Schmucke, 
going  out.  "Theze  men  haf  vazes  lige  big  digers. — I 
vill  zent  for  mein  boor  dings, ' '  he  added. 

"Where  is  monsieur  going?  " 

"Verefer  it  bleases  Gott, "  said  the  sole  heir, 
making  a  sublime  gesture  of  indifference. 

"Let  me  know  where,"  said  Villemot 

"Follow  him,"  whispered  Fraisier  to  the  head 
clerk. 

Madame  Cantinet  was  appointed  guardian  of  the 


COUSIN  PONS  481 

seals,  and  of  the  moneys  found  on  the  premises  she 
was  allowed  a  provision  of  fifty  francs. 

"That's  going  all  right,"  said  Fraisier  to  Mon- 
sieur Vitel,  when  Schmucke  had  departed.  "If  you 
wish  to  resign  your  position  in  my  favor  go  and 
see  Madame  la  Presidente  de  Marville,  you  will  come 
to  an  understanding  with  her. ' ' 

' '  You  have  found  a  man  of  butter ! ' '  said  the 
juge-de-paix,  pointing  to  Schmucke,  who  was  stand- 
ing in  the  courtyard,  looking  up  for  the  last  time  at 
the  windows  of  the  apartment 

"Yes,  the  affair  is  in  good  shape,"  replied  Frai- 
sier. "You  can  safely  marry  your  grand-daughter 
to  Poulain.  He  will  be  physician-in-chief  of  the 
Quince- Vingts." 

"We  will  see  about  it — Adieu,  Monsieur  Frai- 
sier, ' '  said  the  juge-de-paix,  with  the  air  of  good- 
fellowship. 

' '  That  is  a  man  of  resources, ' '  said  the  clerk. 
1 '  He  will  go  far,  the  hound.  " 


It  was  now  eleven  o'clock,  the  old  German  took, 
mechanically,  the  route  he  had  so  often  followed 
with  Pons,  thinking  of  Rons;  he  saw  him  inces- 
santly, he  fancied  he  was  at  his  side,  and  he  arrived 
before  the  theatre,  out  of  which  came  his  friend 
Topinard,  who  had  just  cleaned  all  the  lamps  of  the 
establishment,  with  his  mind  full  of  the  tyranny 
of  his  director. 

"Ah!  here  is  mein  avvair, "  cried  Schmucke, 
stopping  the  poor  super.  "Dobinart,  haf  you  a 
blacetolif  in?" 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"Ein  houzehold?" 

' '  Yes,  monsieur. ' ' 

"  Vill  you  take  me  to  poart?  Oh,  I  vill  bay  you 
veil — I  haf  nein  huntret  vrancs  a  year — ant  I  haf 
not  long  to  lif — I  vill  make  you  no  drouble. — I 
toan'd  eat  ad  all. — Mein  only  desire  ees  to  smoke 
mein  bibe — ant  az  you  are  die  only  one  who  haz 
vept  vor  Bons  mit  me,  I  lof  you." 

' '  Monsieur,  I  would  do  it  with  a  great  deal  of 
pleasure ;  but  first,  figure  to  yourself  that  Monsieur 
Gaudissart  has  been  wigging  me — " 

' '  Vigging  you  ? ' ' 

' '  That  is  a  way  of  saying  that  he  combed  my 
hair. " 

' '  Combed  your  hair  ? ' ' 

"He  scolded  me  for  taking  an  interest  in  you. — 
(483) 


484  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

It  will  then  be  necessary  to  be  very  discreet  if  you 
come  to  my  house!  But  1  don't  believe  that  you 
will  stay  there,  for  you  do  not  know  what  the  home 
of  a  poor  devil  like  me  is — " 

"I  shall  lige  much  petter  the  boor  home  of  a  man 
of  hard  who  has  vept  for  Bons  than  the  Duileries 
with  men  who  haf  vaces  lige  digers.  I  haf  zhust 
come  oud  from  seeing  digers  in  Bons's  abartment, 
who  vill  defour  all ! — ' ' 

"Come,  Monsieur,"  said  the  other,  "and  you 
will  see — but — In  fact,  there  is  a  loft — We  will 
consult  Madame  Topinard. " 

Schmucke,  like  a  sheep,  followed  Topinard  who 
conducted  him  into  one  of  those  horrible  localities 
which  might  be  called  the  cancers  of  Paris.  This 
is  known  as  the  cite  Bordin.  It  is  a  narrow  passage 
flanked  with  houses  built  as  they  build  them  on 
speculation,  and  it  opens  from  the  Rue  de  Bondy,  in 
that  part  of  the  street  which  is  overshadowed  by 
the  immense  building  of  the  theatre  of  the  Porte- 
Saint-Martin,  one  of  the  warts  of  Paris.  This  pas- 
sage, whose  road-bed  is  sunk  below  the  level  of  the 
street  pavement,  slopes  down  into  the  Rue  des 
Mathurins-du-Temple.  The  cite  ends  by  a  traverse 
street  that  bars  it  at  one  end  in  the  form  of  a  letter 
"  T. "  These  two  lanes  thus  disposed  at  right  angles 
contain  about  thirty  houses  of  six  or  seven  stories 
each,  of  which  the  interior  courtyards,  and  all 
the  apartments  contain  warerooms,  small  manufac- 
tories and  industries  of  every  kind.  It  is  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Antoine  in  miniature.  Here  they 


COUSIN  PONS  485 

make  furniture,  they  engrave  brass,  they  sew  cos- 
tumes for  the  theatres,  they  manufacture  glassware, 
they  paint  porcelain,  they  manufacture,  in  short,  all 
the  novelties  and  varieties  of  the  article-Paris. 
Dirty  and  productive  as  commerce  itself,  this  pas- 
sage, always  full  of  people  coming  and  going,  of 
carts,  of  drays,  is  repulsive  in  aspect,  and  the  pop- 
ulation which  swarms  there  is  in  harmony  with  the 
products  and  the  locality.  They  are  people  of  small 
trades  and  manufactures,  people  intelligent  in  man- 
ual labor,  but  whose  intelligence  is  all  absorbed  in  it 

Topinard  lived  in  this  cite,  flourishing  by  means 
of  its  industries,  because  of  the  low  price  of  rents. 
He  occupied  the  second  house  to  the  left  at  the 
entrance.  His  apartment,  situated  on  the  sixth  floor, 
had  a  view  over  that  zone  of  gardens  which  still 
exist,  and  which  belong  to  the  three  or  four  large 
mansions  of  the  Rue  de  Bondy. 

Topinard's  residence  consisted  of  a  kitchen  and 
two  chambers.  In  the  first  of  these  two  cham- 
bers were  the  children.  There  might  be  seen  in  it 
two  little  beds  in  white  wood,  and  a  cradle.  The 
second  room  was  the  bed-room  of  the  Topinard  pair. 
The  family  ate  in  the  kitchen.  Above,  extended  a 
half-story  or  loft  about  six  feet  in  height,  with  a 
zinc  roof,  lighted  by  a  window  in  the  slope  of  the 
roof.  It  was  reached  by  a  stairway  in  white  wood 
called,  in  builders'  jargon,  "a  miller's  ladder." 
This  room,  denominated  a  servant's  bed-room, 
enabled  the  owner  of  the  house  to  designate  the 
Topinard  lodging  as  a  complete  apartment,  and  to 


486  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

charge  four  hundred  francs  a  year  for  it  At  the 
entrance,  to  mask  the  kitchen,  there  was  an  arched 
recess,  lighted  by  a  circular  window  opening  into 
the  kitchen,  and  formed  by  the  junction  of  the  door 
of  the  first  chamber  and  that  of  the  kitchen — in  all, 
three  doors.  These  three  rooms,  floored  with  brick, 
papered  with  frightful  paper  at  six  sous  per  roll, 
ornamented  with  chimneys  of  the  kind  called  &  la 
capucine,  painted  with  a  cheap  color  in  imitation  of 
wood,  contained  the  belongings  of  five  persons,  of 
which  three  were  children.  On  the  walls  could  be 
seen  the  deep  scratches  made  by  the  three  children, 
as  high  as  their  arms  could  reach.  Wealthy  people 
would  find  it  difficult  to  imagine  the  simplicity  of 
a  kitchen  furnishing,  which  consisted  of  a  broiler, 
a  large  boiler,  a  gridiron,  a  saucepan,  two  or  three 
kettles  and  a  frying-pan.  The  plates  and  dishes, 
in  brown  and  white  earthenware,  were  worth  about 
twelve  francs.  The  table  did  the  double  duty  of 
kitchen-table  and  dining-table.  The  furniture  con- 
sisted of  two  chairs  and  two  stools.  The  space 
under  the  oven  with  its  hood  was  filled  with  a  pro- 
vision of  wood  and  coal.  And  in  the  corner  stood 
the  tub,  in  which  was  washed,  frequently  at  night, 
the  family  linen.  The  room  occupied  by  the  chil- 
dren, which  had  clothes-lines  stretched  across  it, 
was  spotted  with  theatre  posters  and  with  engrav- 
ings taken  from  the  newspapers,  or  with  the  pros- 
pectuses from  illustrated  books.  Evidently  the  eldest 
of  the  Topinard  family,  whose  school-books  might 
be  seen  in  a  corner,  was  entrusted  with  the  care  of 


COUSIN  PONS  487 

the  household  after  six  o'clock,  when  the  father  and 
mother  departed  for  their  service  at  the  theatre.  In 
very  many  poor  families  of  the  lower  classes,  as 
soon  as  a  child  attains  the  age  of  six  or  seven  years, 
it  plays  the  part  of  a  mother  to  its  younger  brothers 
and  sisters. 

It  will  be  perceived  from  this  slight  sketch  that 
the  Topinard  family  was,  according  to  the  phrase 
now  become  proverbial,  ' '  poor  but  honest. ' '  Topi- 
nard was  about  forty  years  of  age,  and  his  wife,  a 
former  leader  of  the  choruses,  the  mistress,  it  was 
said,  of  the  bankrupt  director  whom  Gaudissart  had 
succeeded,  was  about  thirty.  Lolotte  had  been  a 
handsome  woman,  but  the  misfortunes  of  the  late 
administration  had  so  reacted  upon  her,  that  she 
had  seen  herself  under  the  necessity  of  contracting 
with  Topinard  a  theatre-marriage.  She  did  not 
doubt  that  as  soon  as  their  establishment  saw  itself 
possessed  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  francs  Topinard 
would  redeem  his  promises  and  marry  her  legally, 
if  only  to  legitimize  his  children,  whom  he  adored. 
In  the  morning,  during  her  leisure  moments,  Madame 
Topinard  sewed  for  the  wardrobe  of  the  theatre. 
These  courageous  supernumeraries  realized  by  gigan- 
tic labors  nine  hundred  francs  a  year. 

"Another  flight!"  said  Topinard,  at  each  floor 
after  the  third,  to  Schmucke,  who  didn't  even  know 
whether  he  was  descending  or  ascending,  so  much 
was  he  absorbed  in  his  misery. 

At  the  moment  when  the  former,  dressed  in  white 
canvas  like  all  persons  employed  about  the  theatre, 


488  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

opened  the  door  of  the  kitchen,  the  voice  of  Madame 
Topinard  was  heard  crying: 

"Come,  children,  be  quiet!  here  is  papa!  " 

And  as  without  doubt  the  children  did  what  they 
liked  with  papa,  the  eldest  continued  to  command  a 
charge  in  remembrance  of  the  Cirque-Olympique, 
mounted  on  a  broom  stick,  the  second,  to  blow  into 
a  tin  fife,  and  the  third,  to  follow  as  best  he  could, 
the  bulk  of  the  army.  The  mother  was  sewing  on 
a  theatrical  costume. 

"Shut  up!"  cried  Topinard  in  a  formidable 
voice,  "or  I  will  slap! — Always  have  to  say  that 
to  them, "  he  added  in  a  whisper  to  Schmucke. — 
' '  Here,  my  girl, ' '  he  said  to  the  box-keeper,  ' '  here's 
Monsieur  Schmucke,  the  friend  of  that  poor  Mon- 
sieur Pons;  he  doesn't  know  where  to  go  and  he 
wishes  to  come  to  us ;  it  is  of  no  use  that  I  have 
told  him  that  we  were  not  gorgeous,  that  we  lived 
on  the  sixth  floor,  that  we  had  only  a  loft  to  offer 
him,  he  insists  on  it — " 

Schmucke  had  seated  himself  on  a  chair  which 
the  woman  pushed  forward  for  him,  and  the  chil- 
dren, abashed  at  the  arrival  of  a  stranger,  were 
huddled  together  in  a  group,  delivering  themselves 
to  that  profound  examination,  mute  and  quickly 
finished,  which  distinguishes  childhood,  accustomed, 
like  dogs,  to  scent  things  rather  than  to  judge  of 
them.  Schmucke  looked  at  the  pretty  group,  in 
which  was  a  little  girl,  five  years  old,  the  one  who 
had  blown  in  the  trumpet,  and  who  had  magnificent 
blond  hair. 


COUSIN  PONS  489 

' '  She  is  laike  a  leedle  Cherman ! ' '  said  Schmucke, 
making  her  a  sign  to  come  to  him. 

' '  Monsieur  will  be  very  uncomfortable  up  there, ' ' 
said  the  mother ;  "  if  I  were  not  obliged  to  have  my 
children  near  me  I  would  offer  him  our  room. ' ' 

She  opened  the  door  of  the  chamber  and  made 
Schmucke  enter  it  This  chamber  contained  all  the 
luxury  of  the  apartment.  The  mahogany  bedstead 
was  draped  with  curtains  of  blue  calico,  edged  with 
white  fringe.  The  same  blue  calico  in  the  shape  of 
curtains  decorated  the  window.  The  bureau,  the 
secretary,  the  chairs,  although  of  mahogany,  were 
all  well  cared  for.  There  was  on  the  mantel-shelf 
a  clock,  some  candle-sticks,  evidently  former  gifts 
from  the  bankrupt,  whose  portrait,  a  hideous  painting 
by  Pierre  Grassou,  hung  above  the  bureau.  All  the 
children,  to  whom  entrance  to  this  sacred  place  was 
forbidden,  cast  inquisitive  glances  through  the  door. 

"Monsieur  would  be  comfortable  there,"  said  the 
box-keeper. 

"No,  no,"  replied  Schmucke.  "I  haf  not  long 
to  lif — I  only  vish  a  gorner  in  vich  to  tie. ' ' 

The  door  of  the  bed-chamber  closed  and  they 
went  up  into  the  garret;  as  soon  as  Schmucke  had 
seen  it,  he  cried:  "Dat's  vat  I  vandt! — Before  I 
lifd  mit  Bons  I  vas  nefer  bedder  lotged  dan  dees. ' ' 

"Well,  we  shall  only  have  to  buy  a  bed,  two 
mattresses,  a  bolster,  a  pillow,  two  chairs  and  a 
table.  That  will  not  kill  a  man ; — that  may  cost 
about  fifty  ecus,  with  the  wash-basin,  the  pot  and 
a  little  bed-side  carpet  " 


Everything  was  arranged,  only  the  fifty  ecus 
were  lacking.  Schmucke,  who  was  within  two 
steps  of  the  theatre,  naturally  thought  of  demanding 
his  salary  of  the  director,  when  he  saw  the  poverty 
of  his  new  friends— He  went  at  once  to  the  theatre 
and  found  Gaudissart  there.  The  director  received 
Schmucke  with  that  rather  stiff  politeness  which  he 
assumed  for  artists,  and  was  astonished  at  the 
request  made  by  Schmucke  for  a  month's  salary. 
Nevertheless,  the  accounts  being  examined,  the 
demand  was  found  to  be  a  just  one. 

' '  Ah !  the  devil,  my  good  man ! '  'said  the  director 
to  him,  "the  Germans  know  how  to  keep  accounts, 
even  in  the  midst  of  their  tears — I  thought  you 
would  be  grateful  for  the  gift  of  a  thousand  francs ! 
a  whole  year's  salary,  which  I  sent  to  you,  and 
which  was  worth  a  receipt ! ' ' 

"We  nefer  receevt  anyding, "  said  the  good  Ger- 
man ;  ' '  ant  if  I  now  gome  to  you  it  is  pegause  I  am 
in  die  sdreed  ant  mitoud  a  liart — Py  whom  did  you 
send  the  cratuity  ? — ' ' 

' '  By  your  housekeeper. ' ' 

"Montame  Zipod!"  cried  the  musician.  "Zhe 
has  gilled  Bons,  zhe  has  stolen,  zhe  has  zolt  hees 
broberty. — Zhe  dried  to  purn  hees  vill. — She  is  a 
hoozy — a  monzder ! ' ' 

"But,  my  good  fellow,  how  is  it  that  you  are 
(491) 


492  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

without  a  sou,  in  the  street,  with  your  position  of 
sole  legatee  ?    That  is  not  logical,  as  we  say. ' ' 

' '  They  durnet  me  oud  ov  toors — I  am  a  sdranger, 
I  know  noding  of  dose  laws — " 

' '  Poor  man, ' '  thought  Gaudissart,  foreseeing  the 
probable  end  of  an  unequal  struggle — "Listen  to 
me, ' '  said  he.  ' '  Do  you  know  what  you  ought  to 
do?" 

' '  I  have  a  peezenez  achent ! ' ' 

"Well  then,  negotiate  at  once  with  the  heirs; 
you  will  have  from  them  a  sum  down,  and  an 
annuity,  and  you  can  live  in  peace." 

"I  ton'd  vant  anyding  elze!  "  replied  Schmucke. 

' '  Very  good,  then  let*  me  arrange  that  for  you, ' ' 
said  Gaudissart,  to  whom  Fraisier  had  revealed  his 
plan  the  night  before. 

Gaudissart  thought  that  he  might  be  able  to  in- 
gratiate himself  with  the  young  Vicomtesse  Popinot 
and  her  mother  by  the  conclusion  of  this  dirty 
affair,  and  he  would  be  at  least,  one  day,  counsellor 
of  state,  he  said  to  himself. 

' '  I  audorize  you  to  agt  vor  me — " 

' '  Very  well,  let  us  see !  In  the  first  place,  hold ! ' ' 
said  the  Napoleon  of  the  theatres  of  the  Boulevard, 
"here  are  one  hundred  ecus — " 

He  took  from  his  purse  fifteen  louis  and  handed 
them  to  the  musician. 

' '  They  are  for  you,  they  are  six  months  advance 
on  your  salary ;  then,  if  you  leave  the  theatre  you 
can  pay  them  back  to  me.  Now,  let's  make  an 
estimate.  How  much  do  you  spend  a  year  ?  How 


COUSIN  PONS  493 

much  is  necessary  to  make  you  happy?  Come 
now!  consider  yourself  a  Sardanapalus !— " 

"I  need  a  zuid  of  gloaz  for  vinder  and  anoder  for 
zummer — " 

"Three  hundred  francs!  "  said  Gaudissart 

"Shoes,  four  bairs— " 

"Sixty  francs — " 

"Zdoggings— " 

"Twelve  pair,  that's  thirty-six  francs — " 

"Zigs  jhirds— " 

"Six  cotton  shirts,  twenty-four  francs,  as  many 
of  linen,  forty-eight;  say,  seventy-two.  We  have 
now  four  hundred  and  sixty-eight ;  say  five  hundred, 
with  the  cravats  and  the  handkerchiefs,  and  one 
hundred  francs  for  washing — six  hundred  francs! 
After  that  how  much  do  you  need  to  live  on  ? — three 
francs  a  day  ? ' ' 

' '  No,  dad  ees  doo  mooch ! — ' ' 

' '  Stay,  you  must  have  some  hats — that  makes 
fifteen  hundred  francs  and  five  hundred  for  rent — 
two  thousand.  Do  you  want  me  to  get  you  an 
annuity  of  two  thousand  francs — good  security? — " 

' '  And  mine  dopacco  ? ' ' — 

' '  Twenty-four  hundred  francs !  —  Ah !  Papa 
Schmucke,  you  require  that  tobacco? — Very  well, 
we  will  throw  in  the  tobacco.  It  is  then  twenty- 
four  hundred  francs  of  annuity — " 

"Dad  ees  nod  all!  I  moost  haf  zome  gash 
town—' ' 

' '  Pin  money ! — that's  it ! — These  Germans !  they 
are  so  simple ! — The  old  Robert  Macaire ! ' '  thought 


494  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

Gaudissart — "Well,  what  do  you  want?  "  repeated 
he.  ' '  But  nothing  after  this. ' ' 

' '  It  eez  to  bay  a  sagret  tedt ' ' 

' '  A  debt, ' '  thought  Gaudissart ;  ' '  the  scamp.  He 
is  worse  than  an  eldest  son!  He'll  invent  notes  of 
hand  next!  We  must  pull  up!  that  Fraisier  can't 
see  things  on  a  grand  scale !  What  debt,  my  good 
man?  Tell  me! — " 

' '  There  vas  only  von  man  dad  mournet  for  Bons 
mit  me — He  has  a  bretty  leedle  curl  who  has 
maknivicend  hair.  She  zeems  to  me  zhust  now  laike 
the  Cheniuz  of  my  boor  Chermany,  vich  I  oughd 
nefer  to  haf  qvitted. — Bar  is  is  not  goot  for  the 
Chermans — dey  riticule  dem  here, — "  said  he, 
making  the  little  movement  of  the  head,  of  a  man 
who  thinks  he  sees  all  things  clearly  in  this  lower 
world. 

"He  is  crazy! "  thought  Gaudissart 

And  moved  to  pity  for  this  innocent,  the  director 
felt  a  tear  in  his  eye. 

"Ah!  you  untersdant  me,  Mennesir  le  Tirecdir! 
Well,  dis  man  who  has  the  leedle  girl  is  Dobinard, 
who  attends  in  de  orchesdra  and  lighdts  de  lambs; 
Bons  lofed  heem  and  dook  gare  of  heem.  He  was 
the  only  one  who  aggompanied  mein  only  frient 
to  the  vuneral,  to  the  jurch,  to  the  zemetery. — I 
vant  dree  douzant  francs  for  him  and  dree  douzant 
for  the  leedle  curl. — " 

"Poor  man!  " — thought  Gaudissart. 

This  hardened  parvenu  was  touched  by  this 
nobility,  and  by  this  gratitude  for  a  nothing  in  the 


COUSIN  PONS  495 

eyes  of  the  world,  but  which,  in  the  eyes  of  this 
divine  lamb,  outweighed  like  Bossuet's  cup  of  water 
all  the  victories  of  conquerors.  Gaudissart  con- 
cealed under  all  his  vanities,  under  his  ruthless 
desire  to  succeed  and  to  raise  himself  to  the  level  of 
his  friend  Popinot,  a  good  heart  and  a  kind  nature. 
So  now  he  effaced  at  once  all  his  hasty  judgments 
of  Schmucke  and  came  over  to  his  side. 

"You  shall  have  all  that!  But  I  will  do  better, 
my  dear  Schmucke.  Topinard  is  an  honest  man — " 

"Yez,  I  haf  joost  zeen  him  in  hees  boor  houze, 
vhere  he  is  habby  ant  condent  with  his  jiltren. " 

"I  will  give  him  the  cashier's  place,  for  old 
Baudrand  is  going  to  leave  me." 

"Ah!  may  Gott  plez  you! "  cried  Schmucke. 

"Well,  my  good  honest  man,  come  to  M.  Ber- 
thier's,  the  notary,  at  four  o'clock  this  afternoon ; 
everything  shall  be  settled  and  you  will  be  free  from 
care  for  the  rest  of  your  days.  You  shall  have  your 
six  thousand  francs,  and  you  may  have  the  same 
salary  with  Garangeot  that  you  had  with  Pons. " 

"No,"  said  Schmucke,  "  I  gannot  lif ! — I  haf  no 
longer  the  heard  for  anyding—  1  am  proken  town — . " 

"Poor  sheep!  "  said  Gaudissart  to  himself,  salut- 
ing the  German,  who  went  away.  "One  lives  on 
cutlets  after  all.  And  as  the  sublime  Beranger  says: 

"  Poor  sheep,  forever  shorn !  " 

And  he  hummed  that  political  sentiment  to  get 
rid  of  his  emotions. 


496  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Call  up  my  carriage,"  he  said  to  his  office- 
attendant 

Then  he  went  down  and  cried  to  the  coachman : 

"Rue  de  Hanovre!" 

The  man  of  ambition  was  once  more  uppermost! 
He  saw  the  Council  of  State. 

Schmucke  was  at  that  moment  buying  flowers, 
and  he  carried  them,  with  some  cakes,  almost  joy- 
ously to  the  children  of  Topinard. 

"I  cot  you  zome  gakes, "  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

This  smile  was  the  first  that  had  been  seen  on  his 
lips  for  three  months,  and  anyone  seeing  it  would 
have  shuddered. 

"I  gif  dem  to  you  on  von  gondission,"  he  added. 

"You  are  too  good,  monsieur,"  said  the  mother. 

' '  De  leedle  curl  moost  giss  me,  and  arranche  die 
flowers  een  her  hair  joost  lige  de  leedle  Cherman 
curls!" 

"Olga,  my  daughter,  do  just  what  monsieur 
wishes  you — "  said  the  box-keeper,  assuming  a 
severe  air. 

"Toan'd  scolt  mein  leedle  Cherman!" — cried 
Schmucke,  who  saw  his  dear  Germany  in  this  little 
child. 

"All  your  traps  are  coming  here  on  the  shoulders 
of  three  porters!  "  said  Topinard,  entering. 

"Ah!"  said  the  German,  "mein  frient,  here  are 
doo  hundert  vrancs  to  bay  'for  eet — You  haf  a  goot 
vife  here,  and  you  vill  marry  her,  vill  you  nod !  I 
gif  you  a  dousand  ecus — The  leedle  curl  zhe  vill  haf 
a  tode  of  a  dousand  ecus,  vich  vill  be  blaced  in 


COUSIN  PONS  497 

her  name.  And  you  vill  be  no  longer  man-of-all 
vork — you  vill  be  gashier  of  the  dheatre — " 

4 '  I  ?    In  place  of  old  Baudrand  ?  " 

"Yez." 

"Who  told  you  so?" 

1 '  Mennesir  Cautissart ! ' 

1 '  Oh !  it  is  enough  to  make  one  crazy  with  joy ! 
And,  I  say,  Rosalie,  won't  they  be  jealous  at  the 
theatre! — But  it  is  not  possible,"  he  added. 

"Our  benefactor  must  not  sleep  in  the  loft." 

"Pah!  Vor  the  vew  tays  I  haf  to  lif,"  said 
Schmucke,  "eet  ees  goot  enough! — Atieu!  I  goto 
the  zemetery — to  see  vat  has  peen  tone  with  Bons 
— and  orter  zome  viewers  vor  his  crafe! — " 


Madame  Camusot  de  Marville  was  a  prey  to  the 
liveliest  anxiety.  Fraisier  held  counsel  with  her, 
and  with  Godeschal  and  Berthier.  Berthier,  the 
notary,  and  Godeschal,  the  attorney,  considered  the 
will  made  by  two  notaries  in  presence  of  two  wit- 
nesses as  incontestable,  in  consequence  of  the  pre- 
cise manner  in  which  it  had  been  drawn  by  Leopold 
Mannequin.  According  to  the  worthy  Godeschal, 
Schmucke,  even  if  his  present  counsel  succeeded  in 
deceiving  him,  would  soon  be  enlightened,  were  it 
only  by  one  of  those  attorneys  who,  to  distinguish 
themselves,  have  recourse  to  acts  of  generosity  and 
of  delicacy.  The  two  ministerial  lawyers  quitted 
Madame  de  Marville  accordingly,  after  strongly 
advising  her  to  beware  of  Fraisier,  concerning 
whose  character  they  had  naturally  obtained  some 
information.  At  this  moment  Fraisier  himself, 
returning  from  the  sealing  up  of  Pons's  effects,  was 
drawing  up  a  legal  summons  in  the  president's  pri- 
vate cabinet,  into  which  Madame  de  Marville  had 
shown  him,  at  the  request  of  the  two  ministerial 
officers,  who  saw  the  business  too  dirty  for  a  presi- 
dent to  be  mixed  up  with,  according  to  their  expres- 
sion, and  who  wished  to  give  their  opinion  to 
Madame  de  Marville  without  being  heard  by  Fraisier. 

"Well,  madame,  where  are  those  gentlemen?" 
said  the  former  advocate  of  Mantes. 
(499) 


500  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"Gone! — Advising  me  to  give  up  the  whole 
affair!"  replied  Madame  de  Marville. 

"Give  it  up!"  said  Fraisier,  in  a  tone  of  sup- 
pressed rage.  "Listen,  madame — " 

And  he  read  the  following  paper : 

"On  the  petition  of,  etc.,  etc., — (I  omit  the  legal 
verbiage) : 

"WHEREAS,  there  has  been  deposited  in  the 
hands  of  Monsieur  le  President  of  the  First  Civil 
Court,  a  will  drawn  by  Maitres  Leopold  Mannequin 
and  Alexandre  Crottat,  Notaries  of  Paris,  in  the 
presence  of  two  witnesses,  the  Sieurs  Brunner  and 
Schwab,  foreigners  domiciled  in  Paris,  by  the  which 
will  Sieur  Pons,  deceased,  has  disposed  of  his 
whole  fortune  to  the  prejudice  of  the  present  com- 
plainant, his  natural  and  legal  heir,  to  the  profit  of 
one  Sieur  Schmucke,  a  German ; 

"AND  WHEREAS,  the  complainant  is  able  to  show 
that  the  said  will  is  the  work  of  improper  influence 
and  the  result  of  stratagems  forbidden  by  law ;  that 
it  can  be  proven  by  eminent  personages  that  it  was 
the  intention  of  the  testator  to  leave  his  fortune  to 
Mademoiselle  Cecile,  daughter  of  the  said  Sieur  de 
Marville;  and  that  the  said  will,  which  the  said 
complainant  now  asks  may  be  annulled  and  set 
aside,  was  procured  from  the  testator  when  in  feeble 
health  and  in  plain  dementia; 

"AND  WHEREAS,  the  Sieur  Schmucke,  for  the 
purpose  of  obtaining  this  residuary  legacy,  kept  the 
testator  in  durance,  that  he  prevented  the  family 


COUSIN  PONS  501 

from  approaching  his  death-bed,  and  that,  after 
having  arrived  at  this  result,  he  was  guilty  of  acts 
of  notorious  ingratitude,  which  have  scandalized  the 
household  and  all  the  neighbors  of  the  quarter,  who, 
as  it  chanced,  were  present  as  witnesses  to  pay  the 
last  duties  to  the  doorkeeper  of  the  house  in  which 
the  testator  deceased ; 

"AND  WHEREAS,  still  other  and  graver  facts,  for 
the  proofs  of  which  the  complainant  is  now  seeking, 
will  be  laid  before  Messieurs  the  Judges  of  the 
Tribunal; 

"THEREFORE,  I,  the  undersigned,  officer  of  the 
court,  etc.,  etc.,  summon  the  said  Sieur  Schmucke 
to  appear  before  Messieurs  the  Judges  composing  the 
first  chamber  of  the  Tribunal  to  show  cause  why  the 
said  will  drawn  by  Maitres  Mannequin  and  Crottat 
shall  not  be  regarded  as  the  result  of  evident  and 
undue  influence  and  shall  not  be  put  aside  as  null 
and  of  no  effect;  AND  I  do  moreover  in  the  said 
name  protest  against  whatever  powers  and  qualifi- 
cations said  Sieur  Schmucke  may  assume  as  sole 
legatee,  seeing  that  the  complainant  intends  to 
oppose,  and  does  hereby  oppose,  by  this  PETITION 
presented  this  day  to  Monsieur  le  President,  the  order 
of  possession  asked  for  by  the  said  Sieur  Schmucke, 
on  whom  a  copy  of  this  present  summons  has  been 
served  and  of  which  the  costs  are  — "  etc. 

"I  know  the  man,  Madame  la  Presidente,  and  when 
he  has  read  this  love-letter  he  will  come  to  terms. 
He  will  consult  Tabareau,  and  Tabareau  will  tell 


502  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

him  to  accept  our  offers !    Will  you  give  him  the 
thousand  ecus  of  annuity  ?  " 

"Certainly;  I  should  be  glad  to  pay  the  first 
instalment  at  once." 

' '  It  can  all  be  settled  in  three  days — This  sum- 
mons will  seize  him  in  the  first  bewilderment  of  his 
grief,  for  he  mourns  for  Monsieur  Pons,  the  poor  man. 
He  has  taken  this  loss  very  seriously." 

' '  If  the  summons  is  once  served,  can  it  be  with- 
drawn?" said  the  president's  wife. 

"Certainly,  madame,  one  can  always  abandon  a 
case." 

"Well,  then,  monsieur,"  said  Madame  Camusot, 
"goon!  Keep  on!  Yes,  this  property  which  you 
procured  for  me  is  worth  the  risk !  Besides,  I  have 
arranged  for  the  resignation  of  Vitel,  but  you  will 
pay  sixty  thousand  francs  to  Vitel  out  of  the  pro- 
ceeds of  the  Pons  estate. — And  so,  you  see,  we 
positively  must  succeed." 

"You  have  his  resignation?" 

' '  Yes,  monsieur ;  Monsieur  Vitel  has  perfect  con- 
fidence in  Monsieur  de  Marville. " 

"Well,  madame,  I  have  already  saved  you  sixty 
thousand  francs,  which  I  calculated  would  have  to 
be  given  to  that  vile  concierge,  that  Madame  Cibot 
But  I  must  insist  upon  the  tobacco-license  for  the 
woman  Sauvage,  and  for  the  nomination  of  my  friend 
Poulain  to  the  vacant  place  of  physician-in-chief  of 
the  Quin^e-yingts." 

"That  is  understood,  it  is  all  arranged." 

"Very   well — then    everything    is    settled. — 


COUSIN  PONS  503 

Everybody  is  on  your  side  in  this  affair,  even  Gau- 
dissart,  the  director  of  the  theatre,  whom  I  went  to 
see  yesterday,  and  who  promised  me  to  smooth 
out  the  theatre-attendant  who  might  have  deranged 
our  projects." 

' '  Oh !  I  know  it  Monsieur  Gaudissart  is  quite 
devoted  to  the  Popinots!  " 

Fraisier  left  the  house.  Unfortunately  he  did  not 
meet  Gaudissart,  and  the  fatal  summons  was  imme- 
diately despatched. 

The  avaricious  will  understand,  as  well  as  hon- 
est people  will  execrate,  the  joy  of  the  president's 
wife,  to  whom  twenty  minutes  after  Fraisier's  de- 
parture Gaudissart  came  to  report  his  conversation 
with  poor  Schmucke.  Madame  de  Marville  approved 
of  everything,  she  was  also  infinitely  obliged  to  the 
director  of  the  theatre  for  easing  all  her  scruples  by 
certain  observations  which  he  made,  and  which  she 
found  eminently  just 

"Madame  la  Presidente,"  said  Gaudissart,  "I 
have  been  thinking  as  I  came  along  that  this  poor 
devil  would  never  have  known  what  to  do  with  his 
fortune!  His  is  a  nature  of  the  simplicity  of  a 
patriarch !  He  is  innocent,  he  is  German,  he  should 
be  prepared  as  a  specimen,  he  should  be  put  under 
glass  like  a  little  Jesus  in  wax!  In  fact,  it  is  my 
opinion  that  he  is  already  embarrassed  with  his 
twenty-five  hundred  francs  annuity  and  you  are 
really  inciting  him  to  debauchery — . " 

"It  is  really  worthy  of  a  noble  heart,"  said  the 
president's  wife,  "to  enrich  this  fellow  who  regrets 


504  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

our  cousin.  But  for  my  part,  I  greatly  deplore  the 
little  misunderstanding  which  separated  Monsieur 
Pons  and  me;  if  he  had  come  back  to  us,  all  would 
have  been  forgiven  him.  If  you  will  believe  it,  my 
husband  really  misses  him.  Monsieur  de  Marville 
was  greatly  distressed  at  not  having  received  any 
notice  of  the  death,  for  he  has  a  truly  religious  rever- 
ence for  all  family  duties  and  he  would  certainly 
have  attended  the  funeral  service  and  followed  to 
the  cemetery,  and  I,  myself,  should  have  gone  to  the 
church—" 

"Ah!  well,  my  dear  madame,"  said  Gaudissart, 
"will  you  have  the  deed  prepared?  at  four  o'clock 
I  will  bring  to  you  the  German. — Present  my 
respects,  madame,  to  your  charming  daughter, 
Vicomtesse  Popinot,  and  ask  her  to  say  to  my  illus- 
trious friend,  her  husband's  good  and  excellent 
father,  that  distinguished  statesman,  how  heartily 
I  am  devoted  to  him  and  his,  and  that  I  beg  him 
to  continue  his  precious  favor  to  me.  I  owe  my  life 
to  his  uncle,  the  judge,  and  I  owe  to  him  my  for- 
tune— I  should  desire  to  obtain  through  you  and 
your  daughter  the  respect  and  high  consideration 
attached  to  those  who  hold  honorable  positions.  I 
wish  to  leave  the  theatre  and  become  a  serious 
man." 

"You  are  that  already,  monsieur,"  said  the  presi- 
dent's wife. 

"Adorable!"  exclaimed  Gaudissart,  kissing  her 
dry  hand. 

At  four  o'clock  were  assembled  in  the  office  of 


COUSIN  PONS  505 

Monsieur  Berthier,  notary, — first  Fraisier,  author  of 
the  whole  affair,  then  Tabareau,  holding  Schmucke's 
power  of  attorney,  and  Schmucke  himself,  brought 
by  Gaudissart  Fraisier  had  taken  care  to  place  in 
bank-notes  the  six  thousand  francs  demanded,  and 
six  hundred  francs  for  the  first  instalment  of  the 
annuity  on  the  desk  of  the  notary  and  under  the 
eyes  of  the  old  German,  who,  stupefied  at  the  sight 
of  so  much  money,  paid  not  the  slighest  attention  to 
the  deed  which  was  being  read  to  him.  The  poor 
man,  seized  upon  by  Gaudissart  on  his  return  from 
the  cemetery  where  he  had  been  communing  with 
Pons  and  promising  to  rejoin  him  soon,  was  not  in 
full  possession  of  his  faculties,  already  shaken  as 
they  were  by  so  many  shocks.  He  therefore  did 
not  hear  the  preamble  of  the  deed  in  which  he  was 
represented  as  assisted  by  Maltre  Tabareau,  bailiff, 
his  proxy  and  counsel,  and  in  which  were  stated  the 
charges  contained  in  Monsieur  de  Marville's  sum- 
mons in  the  interests  of  his  daughter.  The  German 
was  placed  in  an  unfortunate  position,  for  by  signing 
the  deed  he  admitted  the  truth  of  Fraisier's 
frightful  assertions;  but  he  was  so  overjoyed  at 
seeing  the  money  for  the  Topinard  family,  and  so 
happy  to  enrich,  according  to  his  humble  ideas, 
the  only  man  who  loved  Pons,  that  he  did  not  hear 
a  single  word  of  this  transaction  of  the  summons. 
In  the  middle  of  signing  the  deed  a  clerk  entered 
the  office. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said  to  his  employer,  "there  is  a 
man  who  wishes  to  speak  to  Monsieur  Schmucke — " 


506  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

The  notary,  at  a  sign  from  Fraisier,  shrugged  his 
shoulders  significantly. 

"Don't  disturb  us  in  this  way  when  we  are  sign- 
ing deeds.  Ask  the  name  of  the — Is  it  a  man,  or 
a  gentleman  ?  Is  it  a  creditor  ? — " 

The  clerk  returned  and  said : 

"He  says  he  must  positively  speak  to  Monsieur 
Schmucke." 

"His  name?" 

"His  name  is  Topinard. " 

"I  will  go  and  see  him.  Sign,  nevertheless," 
said  Gaudissart  to  Schmucke.  "Finish  what  you 
are  doing!  I  will  find  out  what  he  wants." 

Gaudissart  had  understood  Fraisier,  and  both  of 
them  scented  danger. 

"What  are  you  doing  here? "  said  the  director  to 
his  employe.  "You  don't  want  to  be  cashier  then? 
The  first  duty  of  a  cashier  is  discretion." 

"Monsieur — " 

"Go  about  your  business.  You  will  never  be 
anything  if  you  interfere  with  other  people's 
affairs." 

"Monsieur,  I  will  eat  no  bread  of  which  every 
mouthful  would  stick  in  my  throat! — Monsieur 
Schmucke!  "  he  called  out 

Schmucke,  who  had  signed  the  deed  and  held  the 
money  in  his  hand,  came  out  on  hearing  Topinard's 
cry. 

"Here  ees  vor  the  leedle  Cherman  and  vor  you — " 

"Ah!  my  dear  Monsieur  Schmucke,  you  have  en- 
riched monsters;  people  who  have  wished  to  rob  you 


COUSIN  PONS  507 

of  your  good  name.  I  have  carried  this  to  an  honor- 
able man,  a  lawyer  who  knows  that  Fraisier,  and  he 
says  you  ought  to  punish  such  wickedness  by  meet- 
ing the  suit  and  that  would  frighten  them  and  they 
would  give  it  up. — Read  that" 

And  this  imprudent  friend  gave  Schmucke  the 
summons  sent  him  in  the  cite  Bordin.  Schmucke 
took  the  paper,  read  it,  and  perceiving  how  he  had 
been  treated,  comprehending  nothing  of  the  trickery 
of  the  procedure,  he  received  a  mortal  blow.  The 
gravel  choked  his  heart.  Topinard  caught  him  in  his 
arms ;  they  were  standing  under  the  notary's  porte- 
cochere.  A  coach  passed  and  Topinard  called  to  the 
driver  and  got  into  it  with  the  poor  German,  who 
was  now  in  the  agony  of  a  serous  congestion  of  the 
brain.  His  sight  was  dim;  but  the  musician  still 
had  strength  to  give  the  money  to  Topinard. 
Schmucke  did  not  succumb  to  this  first  attack,  but 
he  never  recovered  his  reason ;  his  movements  were 
all  unconscious,  and  he  ate  nothing.  He  died  at  the 
end  of  ten  days  without  uttering  a  complaint,  for  he 
never  spoke  again.  He  was  nursed  by  Madame 
Topinard  and  buried  in  a  humble  way  by  the  side 
of  Pons,  under  the  direction  of  Topinard,  the  sole 
person  who  followed  to  the  grave  this  son  of  Ger- 
many. 

Fraisier,  appointed  juge-de-paix ,  is  very  intimate 
in  the  household  of  the  president  and  much  appre- 
ciated by  the  president's  wife,  who  has  not  allowed 
him  to  marry  "Tabareau's  daughter; "  she  promises 
something  infinitely  better  to  the  clever  man  to 


508  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

whom,  according  to  her  own  sense  of  her  obliga- 
tions, she  owes  not  only  the  acquisition  of  the 
meadows  around  Marville  and  the  cottage,  but  also 
the  election  of  the  president  who  became  Deputy  in 
the  general  re-election  of  1846. 


Everyone  will  undoubtedly  wish  to  know  what 
has  become  of  the  heroine  of  this  history, — a  his- 
tory, unfortunately,  only  too  true  in  all  its  details 
and  which,  together  with  its  predecessor  of  which 
it  is  the  twin-sister,  proves  that  the  grand  social 
force,  is  strength  of  character.  You  will  guess  at 
once,  amateurs,  connoisseurs  and  dealers,  that  we 
are  speaking  of  the  collection  of  Pons!  It  will 
suffice  to  be  present  at  a  conversation  held  at  the 
house  of  Comte  Popinot,  who  was  showing  only  a 
few  days  ago  his  magnificent  collection  to  certain 
foreigners. 

"Monsieur  le  comte,"  said  a  foreigner  of  dis- 
tinction, "you  possess  treasures! " 

"Oh,  my  lord,"  said  Comte  Popinot,  modestly, 
"in  the  matter  of  pictures,  no  one,  I  will  not  say  in 
Paris,  but  in  Europe,  can  pretend  to  rival  an  obscure 
Jew,  named  Elie  Magus,  a  fanatical  old  man,  the 
chief  of  picture  maniacs.  He  has  collected  over  one 
hundred  pictures  which  are  really  enough  to  dis- 
courage any  amateur  from  undertaking  to  collect 
France  will  have  to  sacrifice  seven  or  eight  millions 
to  acquire  this  gallery  at  the  death  of  this  over-rich 
man. — As  to  curiosities,  my  collection  is  fine  enough 
to  deserve  some  mention — " 

"And  how  is  it  possible  that  a  man  so  occupied  as 
you  are,  whose  original  fortune  was  honestly  gained 
in  commercial  pursuits — ?  " 
(509) 


510  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

"As  a  druggist,"  interrupted  Popinot,  "how  is  it 
that  I  have  continued  to  occupy  myself  with  these 
things—" 

"No,"  replied  the  foreigner;  "but  how  have  you 
managed  to  find  the  time  to  search  for  them  ?  Curi- 
osities do  not  come  to  us  of  themselves — " 

"My  father,"  said  the  Vicomtesse  Popinot 
"always  had  the  nucleus  of  a  collection.  He  was 
fond  of  the  arts,  of  beautiful  works ;  but  the  greater 
part  of  his  treasures  came  through  me!  " — 

"Through  you,  madame?  —  So  young!  —  You 
already  had  those  vices?"  said  a  Russian  prince. 

The  Russians  are  such  imitators  that  all  the  mal- 
adies of  civilization  are  reflected  in  them.  The 
bric-a-brac  mania  rages  at  St  Petersburg,  and,  as 
a  result  of  the  zeal  natural  to  these  people,  they 
have  raised  the  price  of  what  Remonencq  called 
"the  article"  so  high  that  the  work  of  the  collector 
is  rendered  impossible.  And  this  prince  was  now  in 
Paris  for  the  sole  purpose  of  adding  to  his  collection. 

"Prince,"  said  the  vicomtesse,  "I  inherited  this 
treasure  from  a  cousin  who  loved  me  much  and  who 
had  passed  more  than  forty  years,  from  1805,  in 
picking  up  in  all  countries,  and  principally  in  Italy, 
all  these  masterpieces." 

"And  what  was  his  name?"  asked  the  English 
lord. 

"Pons,"  said  President  Camusot 

"He  was  a  charming  man,"  said  Madame  de 
Marville,  in  her  fluty  little  voice,  "full  of  wit, 
original,  and  with  it  all  he  had  a  good  heart  This 


COUSIN  PONS  511 

fan  which  you  admire,  my  lord,  and  which  belonged 
to  Madame  de  Pompadour,  he  gave  it  to  me  one 
morning  with  a  pretty  little  speech,  which  you  will 
excuse  me  for  not  repeating — " 

And  she  glanced  at  her  daughter. 

"Tell  us  the  pretty  speech,  madame  la  vicom- 
tesse,"  said  the  Russian  prince. 

"The  speech  is  worthy  of  the  fan,"  replied  the 
vicomtesse,  to  whom,  indeed,  this  phrase  was 
stereotyped.  "He  said  to  my  mother  that  it  was 
quite  time  that  that  which  had  been  in  the  hands 
of  vice  should  pass  into  those  of  virtue." 

The  English  milord  looked  at  Madame  Camusot 
de  Marville  with  an  air  of  doubt  that  was  extremely 
flattering  to  so  shrivelled  a  woman. 

"He  dined  with  us  three  or  four  times  a  week," 
she  resumed.  "He  loved  us  so  much!  We  knew 
how  to  appreciate  him,  the  artists  like  those  who 
share  their  tastes.  My  husband  was,  moreover,  his 
only  relation.  And,  when  this  inheritance  came  to 
Monsieur  de  Marville,  who  did  not  in  the  least  expect 
it,  Monsieur  le  Comte  Popinot  preferred  to  buy  the 
whole  collection  rather  than  have  it  sold  at  auction ; 
and  we  too,  we  much  preferred  to  have  it  sold  thus, 
for  it  would  have  been  distressing  to  have  seen  all 
these  beautiful  things,  which  our  dear  cousin  had 
so  much  enjoyed,  dispersed  in  every  direction! 
Elie  Magus  appraised  them;  and  it  was  thus,  my 
lord,  that  I  was  able  to  purchase  the  cottage  built 
by  your  uncle,  and  where  you  must  do  us  the  honor 
to  come  and  see  us." 


512  THE  POOR  RELATIONS 

The  cashier  of  the  theatre,  of  which  Gaudissart 
resigned  the  directorship  about  a  year  ago,  is  still 
Monsieur  Topinard.  But  Monsieur  Topinard  has 
become  gloomy,  misanthropical  and  taciturn ;  he  ap- 
pears to  have  committed  some  crime,  and  the 
malicious  wits  of  the  theatre  pretend  that  his 
chagrin  comes  from  having  married  Lolotte.  The 
name  of  Fraisier  still  gives  a  shock  to  the  honest 
Topinard.  Perhaps  it  may  be  found  strange  that 
the  only  soul  worthy  of  Pons  and  of  Schmucke 
should  be  found  in  the  third  lowest  rank  of  a  boule- 
vard theatre. 

Madame  Remonencq,  mindful  of  the  prediction  of 
Madame  Fontaine,  is  unwilling  to  retire  to  the 
country,  she  still  remains  in  her  magnificent  shop 
on  the  Boulevard  de  la  Madeleine,  once  more  a 
widow.  In  fact,  the  Auvergnat,  after  having  so 
arranged  the  marriage-contract  that  the  survivor 
should  inherit  the  whole  property,  left  a  little  glass 
of  vitriol  in  his  wife's  way,  counting  on  an  acci- 
dent; and  his  wife,  having  the  best  intentions, 
placed  the  little  glass  elsewhere,  and  Remonencq 
swallowed  the  contents.  This  end,  worthy  of  this 
villain,  tells  in  favor  of  Providence,  whom  the 
painters  of  morals  and  manners  are  accused  of  for- 
getting, probably  because  the  endings  of  so  many 
dramas  put  Providence  in  the  wrong. 

Pray  excuse  the  faults  of  the  copyist! 

Paris,  July,  1846,  May,  1847. 

THE  END. 


LIST  OF   ETCHINGS 


VOLUME  V 

PAGB 

STEALTHY    EXAMINATION    OF     PONS'S    TREASURES 

Fronts. 

PONS,  SCHMUCKE  AND  THE  CIBOT 84 

THE  CIBOT  AND  MADAME   FONTAINE 200 

THE    CIBOT,    THE    ILLUSTRIOUS    GAUDISSART    AND 

HELOISE   BRISETOUT 312 

THE   DEATH  OF  PONS 428 


5  X.  R  ,  C.  P.  513 


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